#it makes every sense for the person who was stuck in the den of politics and vipers

[ace-and-ranty]

This is coming from a show-only fan, but. Gotta say. I was having conniptions of delight over Siuan and Moraine in this episode. It is the BEST angst I have been served in forever. It is SO good. Don't know if this is "character murder" of Book!Siuan, but I for one find this characterization extremely compelling?

Because? She's doing exactly the same thing Moiraine is doing? Sacrificing everything she loves; and everyone she loves; for what she thinks is the only thing that matters, saving the world.

The only thing is that they disagree on how that must be done. Perfectly symmetrical opposites. Their lives and hearts ground to dust beneath the wheel.

The fucking. The fucking flashback flashes. When they were torn apart. I am dead? I have died. I have been murdered, and it felt so good.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Playing the Part

~8300 words of steamy Loki tickle fluff

PG13 for this one, kids. Lots of making out.

CW: some swearing, suggestive humour, mentions of murder/death, alcohol consumption

Every job has its ups and downs, and every employee their good days and not-so-good days. You’d hardly classify yourself as an employee because you didn’t get a paycheque, your entire occupation was a hazard unto itself, human-resources was punching it out on the sparring mat and your boss was either a 100-year-old super soldier or an eccentric billionaire, depending on the day and who was wearing what suit.

Wait… should I be getting paid for this?

Looking around your room that you paid no rent on, in a multi-billion dollar superhero compound, you decided that wasn’t a question you were ever going to ask. The question of the hour was which dress would best conceal your thigh-holstered gun.

Today, your job entailed one of those tasks that could be fun if you decided it would be, or hell if you had a bad attitude about it. You prided yourself on always being up for any mission, so that answered that question, though infiltrating some black-tie gala undercover was never as exciting as fighting alien forces.

You gave up feeling guilty about being a little excited when Earth faced threats long ago; no one had to know that impending planetary destruction was your favourite kind of mission to help out on.

Selecting a red strapless dress from the middle of your mission closet (which was differentiated because most of these dresses were bulletproof) you slipped it on over your underwear and thigh holster. A knock came at your door as you were reaching behind yourself to zip it up.

“Come in!”

“Agent, we- oh… Oh.” Loki’s featured turned from surprised to playfully smug in a matter of seconds.

“Can you get this zipper?” You winced at the stuck metal. He nodded and approached, you turned and held the fabric up. Before he even made it halfway to you he gave a brief wave of his hand and used his magic to unstick the zipper, bringing it to the top.

“Thanks,” you smiled, familiar with that particular kind of help from Loki. “Can you see my gun?” You did a little spin and he shook his head. “Great. You look nice," you commented, gesturing to his impeccable black suit.

“As do you.”

“Ready?”

”I suppose there are worse charades to play on a Saturday evening. Ones that don’t include fine wine and the prospect of a tussle with a Midgardian security man.”

You shot him a look as you two walked towards the garage together. “You said no Midgardian wine could be classed as fine.”

“Save for one region in Italy, I’ve discovered.” Loki shrugged, tightening the fastener on his cuff link.

You gave him a mock look of shock. “Are you telling me… you were wrong?“

“Smugness is not becoming, Agent,” Loki playfully warned.

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes. “Looks like I’m spending too much time with you.”

You bickered and bantered good-naturedly as you entered the garage, which was more like a hangar but only for cars. This mission would be you, Loki, Natasha, Sam and, strangely enough, Tony wanted to drive the van. He gave some excuse about wanting to test some new equipment and spend time with his team. Though you knew it was because Pepper wanted him to attend her aunt’s seventieth birthday, and Tony had a long-standing feud with that particular aunt ever since she went on a forty-five minute tirade about how much she hated Led Zeppelin. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind it, or the fact that she could talk for forty-five minutes straight without the awareness to stop. Either way, Tony was on the job tonight.

“Black Widow is already onsite,“ Tony handed you three some photos as you entered and took your seats. “Your names are on the door, fake ones obviously, here they are.” Tony pulled up some information on the screens and then commanded the self-driving van to go with a few taps at a holographic control centre.

You went over the plan, the objective, who to avoid at all costs, where the gun was supposedly hidden. There was a gun used in a murder of a journalist - the employee of an old friend of Tony's, a young guy working on an exposé of a filthy-rich family dynasty in New York City. The journalist was sure the McDane family money came from arms dealing, but he was found dead just a few short months after he started investigating. The following week, Charles, the charming and likeable newly-married eldest son of the family, announced his run for mayor.

Whether Charlie McDane ordered the murder, or if he didn't even know it happened, Tony's source said this family kept trophies of their victories and the murder weapon would most definitely still be in the house.

On the face of it, it was an unusual assignment for the Avengers. If you didn't think that hard about it, you could have just sent Nat in alone. However, the McDane family was even more powerful than they loved to show on the surface, and this wouldn't be a simple theft. Hence, a small team was going in to avenge the fallen journalist.

Natasha had been planted on the inside, posing as an event manager for a soirée the family was hosting to celebrate Charlie’s birthday and, since he’d invited everyone in the political and social scene, it was the perfect chance to enter the mansion; there’s no way he’d know who each and every person was and should be.

As you walked down the road with your arm slotted through Loki's, you eyed the metal detectors at the front entrance. You gripped his arm and slid your hand into the pocket of your dress, but the pocket was hollow and only existed as easy way to grab your gun. Wordlessly, you passed it to Loki and he concealed it with his magic in the exact same way you planned to smuggle the murder weapon out later that evening.

Maybe it was Loki's elegance or your years of training that started when you were very young, but the way you two could instinctively weave around each other's thoughts, ideas and actions without so much as a glance was something special you didn't take for granted. You both had keen senses, but there was some kind of unexplainable energy that made them align perfectly.

You never let your mind wander on nights like these. On missions. Perhaps if you were less professional you'd take a moment to fantasise about what it would actually be like to go to a party with Loki. If the way he led you through the room with a gentle hand at your waist was more than a ploy to look like an adoring couple, or if he knew your favourite wine because he cared, instead of just having heard you order it a million times before.

He kept things light with jokes and little jabs, never once crossing a boundary when fake-flirting with you, but it wasn't lost on you that it was unusual to have this kind of working relationship that had all of the chemistry with none of the awkwardness. It was almost as if it was second nature now for him to pull you a little closer when you were in a nice dress, considering you'd only worn them in front of him on missions. And so he did pull you closer as you approached the bouncer to give your names.

You spied Nat at the front, leaning around a security guard's shoulder to point to something on his list. She always played her parts so well. She stole a glance at you and Loki through her fake glasses and that was it. No indication she knew you, no special treatment, no way she'd do anything to blow this. She walked up the outdoor staircase as you gave your aliased names to the guard and flashed fake drivers licenses that were pretty much real, considering the government had created them.

Loki declined the arrival champagne for the both of you, immediately leading you to the bar. You looked at him as if to remind him that you weren't here to drink, and his subtle smirk replied that he didn't care. He ordered two glasses of a merlot from the one region in Italy that'd won his respect, passing the glass to you once it was laid on the bar.

"To the finer things," he cheers'ed your glass and you scoffed with a laugh, taking a sip of the wine. The rich flavour burst through your mouth. It was dark and deep, spiced with... with... "Cedar," he offered, reading the analysis on your face. "Rosewood, cedar and some sort of stone-fruit."

"Nectarine."

He smiled and took another sip. "We don't have that on Asgard."

"This wine is good," you nodded as you two turned and deconstructed the room and all of its guests.

It made you kind of sick seeing all of these wealthy people in one place pretending to give a damn about Charlie McDane's birthday. It's not that you liked the guy, not at all, it just felt weird to know that every person in here was the exact kind of person you hunted down. Power-hungry. This mansion may as well be a lion's den. But full of naïve lions, who had no idea two apex predators just walked in.

Just when you started wondering how many people in your line of sight had also committed murder to protect their wealth and power, you saw Natasha give a subtle signal of which way the room with the safe was. Loki saw it too.

It was upstairs, but there wasn't much cover to get upstairs. The great foyer's ceiling was three stories up, the two floors above the ground floor you were on had square balconies that let the people upstairs peer downwards into the masses. Nat's fingers adjusting her hair told you that the room was on the second floor. Thankfully, there were guests on the second floor. Under the guise of admiration for the architecture and a desire to explore the great house, you pointed out works of art to Loki as you ascended the stairs together. When you walked past Natasha she smiled politely, like a good host, and asked if you were enjoying the wine.

"It's most divine. Though, I believe my beloved may be in search of a room to powder her nose."

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual choice of asking for information if you weren't aware that security's eyes were everywhere. Even on the event manager.

"You might find what you need up the stairs, down the first hall, third door on your right."

The way her hands were motioning didn't match her hushed description, so you followed the instructions in her voice instead of the way her hands were telling you.

You allowed Loki to lead you upstairs, down the first hall. When you two were certain there were no eyes, he concealed you two with his magic. The hallway was darkened. He pressed his hand against the lock and unfastened it with an unseen pure magic and you two slipped inside. It was a large office with grand mahogany furniture, decorated exactly as you'd expect Old Money Americans to decorate their office. Right down to the bear head above the fireplace and the first edition novels sitting proudly on the shelf, probably unread by their owners. That also made you a little sick: great words sitting unread as trophies.

Scanning the room for any obvious signs of the safe, your eyes settled on a panel in the wood on the side of the desk. There was a slightly smaller gap in the wood on one side, indicating hinges. You held your hands up to Loki and he conjured thin gloves to grace your fingers, then you pressed gently on the wood to engage the latch. The panel swung open to reveal the safe. Shifting out of the way, Loki took your place and placed a gloved hand on the dial. In less than three seconds, it spun rapidly in each direction before clicking open.

"We should really consider robbing banks," you whispered as the black metal door swung open and you were met with stacks of paper and envelopes.

"Need I remind you I am a Prince? If it's gold you want, darling, say the word."

"Eh," you shrugged, feeling around for the gun. "I meant more for the thrills."

Loki chuckled as your fingers found a familiar-feeling package. You pulled the envelope out and peered inside before showing Loki the sight of a small pistol. He nodded and took it from you carefully, then concealed it in some unknown magical space close to him.

You closed the safe carefully and then your gloves disappeared. Moving quietly back to the door, you listened for several moments to make sure no one was coming. Then, you both slid out and began walking down the hall like a loving couple.

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the end of the hallway. Thinking fast, you opened the closest door to you and pushed Loki inside. There was a shout you vaguely heard before you shut and locked the door again.

"Shit," you hissed. You were in someone's bedroom. Or maybe it was a guest room, considering how clean and un-lived-in it looked. There was a fireplace, like in the office, and a large four-poster bed against one wall. In the middle of the room were two plush couches that faced each other and were side-on to the door. You two walked over to them to get the vantage of being in the centre of the room and quickly searched for an exit.

"I'll cast an illusion," Loki whispered, ready to wave his hands and make it look as if you two weren't here.

"No!" You whispered, eyes wide. "They already saw us come in here. If we disappear, they'll know something's up and lock the place down."

"Then what do you propose?" He held his hands out, annoyingly unbothered by the prospect of blowing a mission. The doorknob twisted and you both snapped your heads towards it, then back at each other.

"Sit," you hissed and shoved him back onto the sofa right behind him. He stumbled and fell with a small indignant noise of surprise. You heard the tinkling of keys and your heart beat in your chest.

"Agent?"

Knowing the security team was about to enter, you acted fast. "I'll never hear the end of this," you mumbled before sliding forward to straddle his lap. His eyebrows shot up his forehead as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and looked at him with nervous urgency. "Kiss me."

Loki didn't question it, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. His hands found their place. One at the small of your back, one firmly gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. Then, he pulled you in for a fiery kiss.

You barely heard the door open as you lost yourself in the strength of his hold, the steady and eager grasp with which he held you. His hands found their places as if they'd been there a thousand times before, as if he knew exactly how you'd feel the safest, feel the most desired. You pulled him deeper by the back of his neck and could have sworn he made a small noise of satisfaction.

Oh no.

He kept kissing you, you kept kissing him, even after the head of the security team had cleared his throat a number of times. As much as you knew you'd already sold it, and boy you sold it well, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Were all Asgardians this good at kissing, or was it just Loki?

Oh. No.

"HEY!"

The sudden loud command pulled you away and, much to your internal mortification, you didn't need to feign how flustered you were.

"O-oh my," you squeaked and looked up at the man, blushing profusely.

Okay, the squeak was fake, but it felt almost real.

You stayed put where you were straddling Loki's lap and grimaced when you saw Natasha, still in character, entering the room. "What's going on, I need you downstairs to- oh!" She looked a little taken aback by your position atop the prince who, you were fuming to see from the corner of your eye, had the audacity to be smirking.

"My apologies," Loki drawled in his growly regal voice, trailing his hands around to your sides. "I simply couldn't control myself, seeing my queen in this dress..." He punctuated it with an "Mmph" and a firm squeeze at your hips. You flinched and squirmed a bit under the ticklish touch, trying to keep your composure but letting a small giggle slip out. Then, catching the pleased and mischievous glint in his eye, you dug your nails into the back of his shoulder to warn him off trying that again.

"This room's off limits," the guard tilted his head towards the door and you made to move your way off of Loki's lap. Instead, with his incredible strength, he stood with his hands still at your hips, lifting you to your feet before turning and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked the guard up and down, "Of course, good sir." You bit your lip and blushed, cowering in Loki's hold as you exited the room together. Nat smirked at you and winked before proceeding to fall back into character and tell the guards there was a belligerent drunk man downstairs needing to be kicked out. That man would be Wilson, who was playing his part as tipsy distraction.

Loki led you down the hall and you rounded a corner, then you broke off from him and held a hand to your chest. "That was too close," you breathed deeply once, then met his eye. You glared when he saw him smirking at you.

"Do I have lipstick on my face?" He asked, feigning worry.

"Oh, shut up," you swatted his shoulder. "I did what I had to do."

"I never knew you had the passion in you, Agent," Loki smirked again. You glared once more and peeked around the corner, only to jump and hold in a yelp as Loki's pinching fingers found your hip. "I also never knew you were so ticklish."

"That's not something people advertise- cut it ouhout!" You swatted his hand and squirmed away from him as he prodded his fingers into your side. "We have the gun, let's get out of here."

"Tsk, you're no fun," Loki scoffed.

You exited the party and made your way down the block towards the van, knowing that Nat's glasses had broadcast at least the last part of your little tussle with Loki. Steeling yourself as you gripped the handle, you reminded yourself that you were a professional, and this was sometimes a hazard of the job. You needed to play it cool when the eventual teasing came.

"Hey, lovebirds," Tony quipped the second he saw your faces.

"Hey," you chuckled, stepping inside and removing your heels the second you found your seat. "We got it."

"Here," Loki closed the door behind him and pulled the enveloped gun from the magical space he'd hidden it. "So you saw the Agent's display of passion, did you?"

"You wound me, Loki," you deadpanned. "I thought we had a mutual connection."

Perhaps those words were a mistake considering all the truth behind them. However, all the best lies were founded on truth, and for now you needed to convince everyone in the van that you weren't totally freaking out because you'd felt the most passionate attraction you'd had in years with a former villain. I mean... how predictable.

Loki looked at you suspiciously as he took his seat, but something in his gaze told you he wasn't going to prod deeper on this. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone.

Nat and Sam joined the fray five minutes later and you all got a move-on back to the Compound. Nat poked more fun at the position she'd found you two in, and you laughed good-naturedly at all their jokes. Loki was uncharacteristically silent, and seemed to always be looking at you when you laughed and instinctively checked to see if he was laughing too.

The jokes shifted to Sam and the wine he spilled down his shirt, then the conversation shifted to the next steps of what to do with the gun, then you all arrived back.

Tony got to work dismantling his rig, declining your help, and so you took your field weapons over to the cabinet to put them back in their places. As you were unclipping the magazine from your pistol, you felt a presence behind the door. You peered around to see Loki.

"What's up?" You raised your eyebrows and snapped the case shut, then closed the door.

He looked at you meaningfully, quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Okay..." you chuckled uncomfortably and put the latch on the door in place. "I'm going to shower."

You made to walk past him but he grabbed your upper arm, stopping you by his side. Facing different ways, he leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I can spot a lie from lightyears away."

Turning to look at him, you'd probably have been caught off-guard by how close his face was if it hadn't been for the events of earlier. You shrugged, pulling your arm from his grasp. "I didn't lie."

He scoffed and also turned to look at you, eyes flitting once down to your lips, then back up to pierce your gaze with his. "You know what I meant."

You were proud of how composed you kept yourself when you shrugged again and kept walking, swallowing hard.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Never one to waste water, you took an uncharacteristically long shower. Haphazardly smearing face wash over your skin to scrub the makeup off, scrub away the flustered energy. But no amount of scrubbing could help you forget the feeling of his kiss, and shampooing the hairspray from your head only made you remember the feeling of his fingers in your hair.

You reminded yourself that it had been a very long time since you'd kissed someone. You were probably just desperate, definitely a little touch-starved in general, so the fact that it was Loki didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

That's what you told yourself over and over as you threw on sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. It was cold and the marble floors could be unforgiving, so you thought it best to go for fluffy socks, but then pulled some slippered boots over the top. You didn't bother brushing your wet hair, letting it fall where it wanted as you made your way to the kitchen.

"That smells good," you commented as Nat pulled some dish out of the oven.

"Mmm," she agreed with an excited smile. "Nico is my favourite," she admitted slyly, referring to one of the chefs Pepper would call in to prepare a bunch of heatable meals during busy periods. Delivery app drivers would probably cancel the order if you tried, thinking it must be a joke that a super solider was asking for a Big Mac to be delivered to the Avengers Compound. Besides, by the time it was scanned and made sure to not contain a deadly poison, it would be cold and stale. "There's enough for you too," Nat said, pulling out another plate and serving you a steaming slice of vegetarian lasagne.

"Thanks," you smiled, still a little distracted. Of course, with someone as perceptive as Nat, that wouldn't be allowed to slip by.

She leaned against the counter and poked at her meal, not meeting your eye to keep it less direct. "You alright?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, and so did she, then you looked back down to your food and shrugged. It was no use lying to her. "I think I'm lonely," you laughed humourlessly, nervously, sadly.

"The kiss got to you," she said knowingly, placing her fork down to give you her full attention. You didn't return the favour, nervous about what you'd say if you were really talking about this. Which, as long as you were here eating dinner, you weren't really talking about it.

"It's not like I haven't kissed a fellow Agent before to keep cover," you sighed a little, shaking your head. "It's just been a while, I guess, since I've had... anything... or, someone."

"I get that," she nodded, picking up her fork again. You two ate in silence for several moments. "This is really good," she declared through an extra-large mouthful. You chuckled and nodded, swallowing another bite. After several more moments, she said quietly, "It's okay if you felt something."

That made you choke a bit. Noticeably, unfortunately. You shook your head, but didn't deny it. "No. It's not okay."

"Why not?" She asked as if you were crazy.

"It's not okay," you repeated firmly, stabbing your fork again at the lasagna. "It's not."

Before she could attempt to pry for more information, Thor and Loki entered the kitchen together. Great.

"Good evening," Thor beamed a toothless smile.

"There's more in the fridge if you're hungry," you looked up at them in an attempt to not seem as regressed in on yourself as you felt. Thor looked at your plate and nodded in approval, opening the fridge. Then you looked at Loki, fully expecting to see some kind of calculating stare as before, but his expression was soft. He looked you over, probably noticing your out-of-character hunched posture and the way your head hung a little lower than usual, and he gave you a look that was subtly laced with sympathy.

Now that made your blood boil. Who was he to feel sorry for you?

He seemed to notice the way your jaw clenched under his gaze, and opened his mouth to say something but Thor spoke first.

"There's a film Stark wants us all to watch this evening."

Nat chuckled, finishing off her dinner. "You say that like he's showing us training videos. He's just trying to bond the team over some cheesy nineties movie." She looked at you and nodded to your clothes. "You look ready for a movie night."

Before you could explain that you'd rather go to bed, Thor beamed again. "Excellent, then! We'll all be there."

Thor was always kind to you, so you didn't want to disappoint him over something so inconsequential. You smiled warmly at him and nodded. "I'm gonna go claim a good spot," you excused yourself, aware it was almost time for it to start. You quickly did your dishes and left the kitchen, making sure to get a seat on a large armchair so you made it clear you'd rather have some personal space right now, even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Maybe it would be good for you though, to remember that you were alone for a reason. That this life you chose wasn't kind too love.

Gods, love. Why did you think of that word, of all the ones out there. You were spiralling. Sentiment, you corrected yourself with a swift reprimand. Sentiment, loneliness, desperation.

You busied yourself chatting to Wanda as people filtered in, taking note of how she seamlessly wove herself in and around Vision as they sat on a two-seater next to you. Determined not to look at or think of Loki or romance or kissing or anything like that, you trained your eyes on the screen as the movie started.

But you spiralled.

There were these two main characters in the movie with this undeniable bickering co-worker chemistry that reminded you of Loki, the jokes he’d whisper into your ear during meetings, the harmless mischief he’d pull to make you laugh, the way his hand felt at your lower back- NO. You couldn’t think about that.

Wanda and Vision were in your line of sight from the corner of your eye and you saw her fingers lace through his, you then saw him place a silent kiss on the crown of her head. Biting down on your tongue, you remembered Nat and Bruce, Pepper and Tony, Thor and Jane, Clint and Laura. All those people who seemed to find love, even temporary love, in the midst of all this madness.

So maybe it wasn’t this life. Maybe it was just… you.

Biting your tongue a little harder, you reminded yourself how powerless you were compared to all these super-people. Sure, many of them were human like you, but all the other humans seemed to have someone who loved them.

It felt hopeless, knowing the only person in this room who you wanted close was so extraordinarily out of your league. He was a god. You were a human. Your life was a flicker compared to his, of course he’d never waste time indulging the likes of you.

But it felt real.

Halfway through the movie you decided you couldn’t sit there and see these buddy-cop characters fall in love. You couldn’t watch Wanda and Vision so enamoured with each other. What you needed was to hit something hard, and then go to sleep. So you excused yourself without a word or a glance at anyone. It was late, anyway. You weren’t even the first one to leave.

A turn of a black-haired form told you that Loki noticed you leaving, but the lack of footsteps behind you as you walked down the silent hall told you that he hadn’t followed you.

Slipping into your room and then into some workout clothes, you jammed your headphones into your ears and put on some classical music; you weren't sure you could stand to hear any words right now. You laced your shoes a little tighter than normal and practically sprinted to the gym, very unwilling to have anyone notice you were gone and decide to come check on you.

Hitting the bag felt good. It was the perfect consolation prize for what you'd actually prefer right now, but with every crushing of your knuckles against the thick canvas you found it easier to forget how it felt to have your fingers looped through his hair. The sweat dripping down your face replaced the feeling of his breath against your skin when you'd broken the kiss, and the aching in your obliques from your tensing and turning to hit the bag took the place of any memory of his hands at your waist. The aching was here, and he was almost gone.

After a half-hour of interval sprints, it was just past midnight and you were exhausted. Not knowing how you felt about no one coming to check on you, you traipsed back to your room in silence. The faint echoing of your footsteps through the hallways made you quiet yourself further, stepping as lightly as you could to prove to yourself that you were still a good spy. Good spies don't get caught up with feelings. Your footsteps fell, dead quiet, and you regained some confidence.

Your muscles stung the next morning but in a delightful way. You'd treated yourself to another hot shower when you got back to your room, so this morning it would probably be best to have an icy one.

As the cold water hit your skin, you felt okay again. The boxing and running last night had really shaken everything out of you, only the smallest lingering of lonely desire remained and it could easily be ignored. Of course, that was easy to say. The second you walked into the kitchen to see that Loki had heard you coming and poured you a coffee you felt a tug at your chest.

His hands closed around the mug to pass it to you and you remembered how his fingers had closed around your waist. He smiled good morning and you remembered how his lips felt against yours. Holding it all in, you smiled and took the coffee, then proceeded to have a short conversation with him like a normal person would. He made jokes about last night, but not about that, and you chuckled at them. After perhaps too short a time for how long you usually chatted, you excused yourself to go do some paperwork. You caught the way his brow furrowed a little, but he didn't question you.

The next few days were more or less like this. You'd try to engage with Loki normally but spiral a little more, convincing yourself that the more you continued like you always had, the more normal things would be again. But he was just so... beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful and now you couldn't help but notice.

One evening, nearly a week after you'd kissed, you were having a bit of a vulnerable day and you walked into the kitchen for some ice cream. Loki had just finished cleaning up after his dinner and turned to say hello, but you couldn't do it. You just turned and walked right back out again. He called after you but you didn't stop. It's not like you were going to cry in front of him, but you just couldn't do this right now.

Seeking refuge in your bedroom, you shut the door and slid down to the floor with your back against it. An immediate soft knock frustrated you, especially knowing who it probably was. You sighed and stood.

“Hey,” you greeted Loki with a nod when you opened the door, immediately turning away to make it look like you were about to do something else. “What’s up?”

Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, which made you stop and give him your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

He squinted for the faintest second and smiled a little sadly. “Light years,” he reminded you how he could spot a lie without harshly calling you out. It pained you that he didn’t. That his lack of sarcasm indicated that he saw you as a bit fragile right now.

You sighed a little and ducked your head to the side, conceding the point. “I’m a little haywire,” you admitted. “I think I need to get some stress out and go to sleep.”

”What troubles you?”

Ah. What a question.

You didn’t want to shut him out, but you certainly didn’t know how to explain that one simple kiss undercover had brought a massive crashing wave of insecurity and anxiety that made you feel completely unlovable. Or... maybe you could just say that?

You were silent for so long that Loki spoke again.

“I’d like to offer my apologies,” he said very diplomatically. “If I overstepped the bounds of our relationship.”

“I’m the one that made you kiss me,” you winced. “I should be apologising.”

”I didn’t mean that,” Loki shook his head. “I meant after, when we returned. When I cornered you.”

You had to laugh. “You didn’t corner me, Loki. I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but you have nothing to apologise for.”

”Very well. But you didn’t make me,” he replied firmly.

“I know, I know…” you rolled your eyes. “A god submits to no one, I just meant that I put you in a situation that I shouldn’t have. Believe me, I’m paying the price.”

That last part came out a little faster than you’d intended it to. In fact, you didn’t really mean to say that last part out loud at all. Or maybe you did. What a perfect Freudian Slip. Quickly collecting yourself, you spotted your headphones and went to pick them up but noticed that Loki was taking slow steps towards you.

”Paying the price?” He asked carefully. You stopped and folded your arms, shrugging.

“People poke fun, you know.” You bit your tongue. Then, you saw him smirk a little. Ah. Lightyears.

“I thought we had a mutual connection,“ he raised his eyebrows, teasing you with your joke from That Night. You gave him a firm stare, but couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t that far away now.

“Loki, that was-“

“A thinly veiled truth,” he interjected, leaving no room for debate. He also left very little room between the two of you. You opened your mouth to respond, seemed to not be able to, and he smirked at your speechlessness.

"Y-you can't." You shook your head. "There's no way."

"There's no way, what?" A smiled tugged at his lips at the way your eyes widened when he took a strand of your hair and wrapped it once around his finger.

"... Mutual?"

“Now that we won’t be interrupted…” he brought his hand up next to his face, flourished it, and you heard your door’s lock click shut. You held your breath as a mischievous grin graced his lips.

Oh gods, you were looking at his lips. You couldn't seem to look away.

He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Might we finish what we started?”

With the smallest nod of your head, he immediately ducked his head to press his lips against yours. Your small noise of surprise made him pull away for a second and grin, before he playfully growled and lifted you from the ground. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he walked a few steps and firmly shoved your back against the wall. Your breath hitched as his hand found that place at the back of your neck, and this time, you kissed him. Eagerly, hungrily, feeling so overwhelmingly euphoric that this was even happening.

It had to be a dream, you thought as his lips trailed along your jawline, his hot breath hit your neck and his strong unwavering arms kept you above the ground and level with his gaze. He kissed you not just like a god or a great lover - he kissed you like he wanted you. Like he‘d also been waiting to do this for an unspeakable amount of time. It felt like relief.

Pulling you both back from the wall, Loki's lips didn’t relent as your fingers tangled once again in his hair. He walked backwards and found his seat on the end of your bed, sitting with you in his lap as he had at the party.

“Gods, you enrapture me,“ he pulled away, a little breathless. He grinned and his eyes were hazy. He looked at you intensely before looking back at your lips, subconsciously slipping out his tongue to wet his own. Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You could have melted into his touch. In fact, you were fairly certain you just might.

He leaned back and you both fell onto the bed, you on top of him. You laughed at the sudden impact and you pulled away for a few seconds to catch your breath. You looked at his adoring gaze and blushed. “I never thought someone like you could want someone like me.”

He furrowed his brow, unsure if you were about to reference his nefarious past.

”You’re so… mighty. You’re a Prince, a god, you’re wickedly smart and powerful and… and I’m just a human.”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki scolded somewhat seriously and held you a little tighter. “Don’t speak of yourself as if you’re insignificant.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, giving him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, I’m wickedly smart,” he smirked and you playfully swatted at his chest. He smiled contentedly and ran his hands firmly down your sides to settle at your hips. It was an innocent romantic gesture, one to position you for further making-out with Loki, but your eyes widened at the memory of his discovery the previous weekend and the assumption that the God of Mischief was about to turn the tables.

Unluckily for you, your flustered expression rendered it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Loki…” You warned as you saw the glint in his eye.

“That’s right…” His smirk widened to a devilish grin.

”How about you keep kissing me, huh?” You laughed nervously and leaned in closer. Loki laughed and nodded, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your neck as you pressed your lips to his. Once your arms were around his neck, he deepened the kiss and rolled over, putting you underneath him. Still on the edge of the bed, your feet barely skimmed the floor. Then, he suddenly became the classic Loki you knew.

“Mmmhmhm!” You whined and giggled a little into the kiss as the fingers belonging to his arm around your waist started ever so gently scratching at your side. “Mmnnoho!” You broke away and gave him a pouting look. He lifted his head and smirked.

Gods. He’d never looked so unspeakably hot.

Messy curls framing his face, that look he gave you that said You’re In Trouble in his distinct Loki way, mixed with the desire in his piercing blue eyes; you’d gladly endure his torture if it meant he looked at you like that.

But maybe that’s because you had no idea what was coming.

“Darling,” he cocked his head and kissed your cheek before kissing just below your ear. “I am the God of Mischief….“ he kissed your neck in a way that you were sure was intended to tickle. You giggled and bit your lip. “And now that I've got my hands on you, you simply cannot expect me to not exploit this little weakness to its fullest extent.”

“L-Loki!” You blushed at the very real threat and he chuckled.

“How about you guide me, hmm? Where should I start?”

“I’m not playing this game,” you laughed nervously, squirming a bit underneath him and resting your hands on his shoulders to push away the ticklish kisses.

“Aw, come now,” he lifted his head and that same beautiful smirk made your heart beat quick. His hand behind your neck slid down under your shoulder blade until it sat at your upper ribs. You stole a glance down to where it may be, even though you couldn’t see it. He cocked his head again. “No? Alright, I’ll choose.” With a wink his thumb slipped around the side and up into the hollow under your arm.

“LOKI!” You gasped, clamped your arm down from instinct and immediately started squirming and giggling, even though his thumb wasn’t even moving. He grinned again and kissed your lips once more.

“You've been down all week, love. Let's have a bit of fun,” he whispered, then sprang his hand at your waist into action, scratching and grabbing at the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You gasped again and started laughing softly, then squeaked when his thumb started wiggling into the hollow under your arm.

"NOHOHO!" You shut your eyes and then squealed loudly when his fingers underneath you began clawing into the back of your uppermost ribs. Damnit, you thought he may start easy on you, not go for three different places at once. You were already in a desperate cackle, bubbling incoherent pleas spilling from your lips as you writhed underneath his amused self.

"I'm honestly delighted you're so ticklish," Loki teased with a chuckle. "It's adorable, really. So professional all the time, yet..." He finished his sentence by intensifying his touch and speed at all three sites of attack, drawing a small shriek from your laughing lips and a jolt from your body. "Has it always been this easy to undo you?"

“OHMYGOHOD!” You shrieked, throwing your head against the bed and trying to buck your upper body against him to no avail. He paused his torture and kissed you deeply again, lips curled into a smile as he pressed his lips to yours. You shook your head and broke away, still laughing. “Youhou’re ridiculous! We were hahaving such a nice moment and y-you ruined ihit,” you whimpered. He kissed to again to silence your complaints.

“What did you expect?”

“I-I expected a nice romantic moment!” You laughed and brought both arms between you and him to shove at his shoulders. “Now,” you gave him a stern look. “Do you want to tickle me, or kiss me? You can only choose one.”

He scoffed. “I don’t do ultimatums, darling.”

“You do now.”

“Bold.“ He stuck his tongue against his cheek then ducked his head to the side in consideration. He then looked at your face, which you’d been attempting to hold in some semblance of a firm glare. He lowered his lips to your ear and you heard him chuckle once. “Far too bold for someone so ticklish.”

He whipped his arms out from under you and pressed his weight down again, trapping your arms between your bodies as he clawed into the front and sides of your lowest ribs.

“NOHOAHAH!” You immediately fell into desperate belly-laughter as his fingers drilled and clawed into the spaces between your bones. Your feet kicked helplessly, merely grazing the ground as laughter kept spilling from you. “NOHO! NO! LOKIHI I CAHAN’T!” He shifted his hands further up your ribcage and snuck his fingers around to dig in at the back and, after one more shriek, your laughter went silent. It was trapped in your chest as his squeezing and vibrating fingers found every sensitive space on your ribs that made you want to melt into a little puddle. You were gasping for air by the time he halted his attack, squeaking and wheezing as you tried to regain your breath.

It was torture, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you if it was worth enduring to have him this close. If he could spot a lie from lightyears away, how much easier could he spot it when he was close enough for you to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

”You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” you hiccoughed. He smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you pulled your finger up as much as you could from where your arms were trapped. “You made your choice.”

He grinned and slid his hands down your sides with a wink, "Oh? Then I'll gladly continue."

"W-w-wait! I dihidn't th-WAHAIT!"

His thumbs drilled relentlessly into your hips as Loki joined in with your loud laughter. You finally managed to wiggle your arms out from where they were trapped at your chest, shooting them down to grab at his fingers. Your feet having no traction and his near entire weight pressing you to the bed made it impossible to buck or lift any part of your torso, so you were completely trapped with nowhere to go as he gripped and grabbed at the skin of your hips, kneading at the pressure points that made you squeak and squirm beneath him.

When he tired of your fingers trying to grab his, he did a devilish swift lift of his own body and slotted his hands between the two of you, settling them palms-down over the majority of your belly. You made a huge gasping noise and started frantically giggling and squealing even before he'd moved his hands. You shook your head and begged for him to kiss you instead, nervous high-pitched giggles interlacing your words.

"N-noho, Loki just kihiss me, kiss me plehease! PLEASE!" You squeaked, cupping his cheeks and gently pulling him towards you. He chuckled and grinned, gently digging a few fingers in just once. You thrashed and renewed your struggling and squealing efforts. "Dohon't you DAHARE! I won't kiss you agahain if you do this!" You threatened. He cocked his head and leaned in a little closer to look deep into your eyes. Then, he grinned and whispered:

"Lightyears."

You thought for certain you'd pass out from laughter when Loki's fingers sprang into action and rippled against your hypersensitive stomach. You laughed loudly, completely powerless to stop his fingers from digging in wherever they pleased. After not much time at all, your laughter went silent and you weakly batted at his shoulders, sides, face, anything your hands could find for themselves since your eyes were shut so tight. Any words your brain even began to think of forming got lost as laughter ripped through your chest from the electric intensity of his fingers against your body.

When your hands finally found both sides of his face, you used all the energy you had left to press your laughing lips against his and, finally, he relented. You fell back with a loud gasp as he retracted his hands with an amused chuckle and took his weight mostly off you, propping himself up with a hand planted either side of your head.

"Alright there, darling?" He teased as you coughed weakly and wiped the tears of mirth from your cheeks. You gave him a scowl, but he found it adorable.

"Thihis isn't fair," you crossed your arms defiantly.

"No?" He smirked. "Pray tell, my love. What isn't fair?"

Oh. My love. His love.

That took any breath you'd managed to get back in your lungs.

"Y-you... you..." But your words were lost in the bliss of being his. He seemed to quickly understand how his words touched your heart, and it softened his teasing demeanour, and softened his smirk into a smile. "You found my worst spots so soon," you managed to murmur through rosy cheeks.

"Was only a matter of time."

"But now you have the upper hand."

"Dear heart, this isn't a struggle for power," he laughed heartily. "I do not seek to rule over you. Anything you ask of me, anything in the Nine Realms, I will give to you."

"Tell me where you're ticklish."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before falling down beside you. He hummed in contentment as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you as close as you could be.

"Anything but that."

[draven-imani]

Journal 5 (Part 2)

So. Yeah. Commander Irabeth Tirabade gave me a temporary field promotion. Although she said there wasn’t much of the Raven Corps left to speak of at the moment. Apparently, a certain Golden Boy had commandeered as many people as he could convince to come with him on a mad quest into the Worldwound after the attack and our group fell underground. He has an entire legion following him, which he dubbed the Silver Legion. She said it was likely he’d be back soon for a supply run.

Damn. I always knew Leto would go far. But to rally the troops on his own without any preestablished backing and just…go for it? I don’t know how he does it. We walked the same path and yet somehow he’s always been in a completely different league than me. I don’t envy him, not in the slightest. I’m in awe, more like. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s incomprehensible.

Ah. I wish he were here instead of there, though. He’d know how to handle this whole ‘Acting Captain’ thing. I feel in over my head already. I don’t want a position of power. I don’t want people’s lives in my hands. I only thought I wanted to go up the ranks when I was an idealistic kid with no idea what that meant. Now…the idea of giving the order that gets someone killed sickens me…

But if Commander Tirabade is the one who gives me that responsibility, I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.

I was starting to doubt…a lot, the last couple of days, honestly. Everything about Luna threw things into question. And then we found out Baphomet cultists infiltrated the church. And then Auriel died. And then I first talked to Radiance…and heard their threats. The threats from a holy weapon that sounded like they should have come from a demon. That stung. That shook me.

But then we met Irabeth Tirabade. And even in person she represents everything I have ever strived to be. Both in the sense of a former Raven Corps member who pulled herself out and into a position to actually be of use to the world, but also in the sense of how an Iomedae worshipper should carry themselves. She’s noble and strong and honorable, but she’s not quite so stuck in her ways as Auriel was, she seems to see things the way they are, and have been in the past, and she seems to be willing to admit when things are rotten and need to be fixed. I respect her. A lot. I…don’t want to disappoint her.

Aaaaand that means, if she gives me a responsibility, I have to rise to the task…even if I really really reeeeeeeeally don’t want to.

Commander Tirabade told me to give her a full report of everything that had happened. Which is exactly what I’d been keeping this journal for. So I gave her my report, and had the others chime in where my memory or note taking didn’t serve adequately. Then I showed her Radiance. I didn’t really think about it, because I thought since she was a paladin that Radiance wouldn’t be quite so ‘I’m going to flay you alive’. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking, because she was Irabeth Tirabade and I’m dumb. That’s more likely. Anyways Radiance started burning her hands, so I quickly took them back.

And I may have admonished them out loud for doing that. To which Radiance basically asked ‘what part of chosen wielder don’t you understand?’ which…fair, but I guess I kind of thought Radiance was the one deciding whether or not to start hurting someone for touching it with how they’d worded it last time. I didn’t think it just happened.

The others were looking at me like I was crazy and asked if I was talking to my sword. So then I had to explain that Radiance is a magic intelligent weapon and also really picky about who wields them.

(And I got a little off track figuring out Radiance’s pronouns here. The answer boiled down to ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender, call me whatever you want’, so I’m sticking with they since it’s neutral. Must be nice being a formless weapon spirit who can just give a copout answer like ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender’. I’d not conform to my mortal view of gender if I could, but I have a flesh prison with all that gender-y stuff that comes with it.)

So then one of them, I forget who, commented about me being the chosen wielder of Radiance. And I think I laughed. I corrected them. No, I wasn’t the chosen wielder. The others pointed out I was wielding them, it sure looked like I was. So I explained what Radiance had already explained to me. That Auriel had been meant to wield them. That I was only holding them now because Auriel didn’t make it this far, and because Auriel’s soul vouched for me.

Commander Tirabade gave her condolences to us about Auriel, and asked that I tell her as much as I could about him later, as someone was going to give a eulogy for all who had been lost in the battle against the demons soon and she would make sure given his heroic sacrifice that he was given the send off he deserved.

Then Anevia rejoined the conversation, having been listening in on the sword talk. She called Irabeth over and asked her about the sword she had lied about selling. Anevia proved even with a sweet voice and a smile to be scarier than the much larger and more fearsome looking commander. Commander Tirabade admitted that she had sold her sword in exchange for an anniversary gift for Anevia. A potion that permanently changes one’s gender.

Aaaaand looking back I really hope the talk about pronouns was not uncomfortable, I was legitimately trying to be polite to the sword, despite Radiance never once extending the same courtesy to me.

Anyways.

By the end the Commander determined that it would be a good idea for us to continue taking out the safehouses, but she had another mission for us as well once that was done. Something big. She told us that another of Deskari’s generals was on her way here—the witch Arelu Vorlesh. We had heard rumors of this from drifters on the streets as well. The crusaders had managed to get information that Deskari’s cult had holed up in Old Kenabres, making a stronghold of a temple to the Inheritor known as the Grey Garrison. There was a piece of the wardstone left still intact, and Arelu was coming to corrupt it. If she was successful, the Commander believed Arelu was going to turn the wardstone into a weapon that would decimate the crusaders on the battlefield.

With that in mind, she had a librarian from the Blackwing come forward with a magical rod. I’m not one for the arcane, but Hiskaria sounded extremely in awe and almost equally disturbed by the implications of the rod, a ‘rod of cancellation’. The important part I gathered was that if Hiskaria used the rod on the wardstone, then it would destroy it.

Melody was hesitant, wondering if there was any way to eventually fix the wardstone and restore the barrier to save the city. Commander Tirabade said no. It had been created hundreds of years ago, when times were less turbulent, and with divine intervention. We had neither the means nor the time, and every moment we left the wardstone intact was a moment Arelu could return to attempt to corrupt it to her own purposes. Better that it was destroyed than in enemy hands.

We agreed. The Commander said that she would not order this strike until we had cleared out all of the safehouses, so that they had nowhere to fall back to, and no reinforcements to call upon, or else the strike would be a suicide mission. But once we had finished ridding the city of their other bases of operations, she would have an army march on the main forces of Deskari, drawing their attention, while our small strike force took the Grey Garrison.

With a plan in place, we decided that today we would at least take down one more safehouse before we rested. I was the only one really in need of any rest, and Commander Tirabade offered that the clerics of the crusades were at our disposal before we left so that we would not have to use our own limited supplies. Once my remaining injuries from those blasted vultures were healed, we set out.

We came upon some looters, who had overturned the caravan of a handful of survivors and were picking through it. We discussed, and decided we didn’t particularly want to kill these guys, just spook them. So Luna pulled up her hood and donned her Butcher persona, then went after the looters, threatening that she would add them to her pile of the dead if they didn’t abandon this cart to her. It worked, and they fled for their lives.

Luna removed her hood and we approached the survivors. They were frightened after that display, but glad to have their supplies back. We pointed them in the direction of Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode, and told them to let them know we’d sent them, as we’d seen a number of refugees being housed safely there.

After that we continued on our way, until we came upon the Tower of Estrod. From the note we’d gotten off Hosilla, there was a passcode, “I’ve new material for the archives”. Since we knew this, and we knew Hosilla’s face, we formed a plan. Melody was able to use the magic of her scale of Trendalor to disguise herself as Hosilla. I was to pretend to be one of the Baphomet worshippers who was a false Iomedaen. And Luna was merely being a more exaggerated version of herself, using her infamy as the Butcher of Balestreet to her advantage. Hiskaria didn’t want to go inside and be stuck in close quarters, so she remained outdoors on lookout, listening for any sign of things going badly. After some discussion, Melody had handed off Auriel’s scale to Hiskaria, and explained how it worked to her. The scales couldn’t be used together, so Melody needed to hand it off regardless, and it seemed right that since Hiskaria was going to be helping us for the foreseeable future, she should be the one to hold it. And as an archer the levitation ability it granted would be of more use to her than to any of us.

With a plan in mind, the three of us walked into the proverbial lion’s den. Two cultists of Baphomet were lounging about on the bottom floor. Believing they recognized Melody as Hosilla, they let us in, and told us to meet with a man on the upper floor by the name of Faxon. We followed Melody’s lead, and went up the stairs. At the top of the tower, we found a tiefling with a scorpion upon his shoulder. He spoke smugly to ‘Hosilla’, and had a very…slimy feel about him. I got the impression that he and Hosilla were not on good terms, perhaps even that Stauton Vhagn pit them against each other and that’s why he was having Hosilla check up on him, just to rub salt in the wound. Unfortunately, Melody didn’t quite know how far to press, and backed down too soon, after making her ‘report’, agreeing to return downstairs with little bite back. When questioned about what I knew, I did the safe thing and pled ignorance, claiming to merely be Hosilla’s guard and not someone in a position to have information. When asked, Luna said she was just there for the kills, nothing more nothing less.

As Melody went to have us return downstairs, Faxon called Luna back to him. I had a bad feeling, but Luna shrugged it off and said to go on without her. Melody decided that maybe we could take out the cultists downstairs quietly while he had whatever discussion he wanted with her. I agreed, although we never got the chance. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of violence broke out upstairs, and the two downstairs were alerted that something was amiss. Melody and I decided it would be best for us to guard the stairs and make sure these two couldn’t sneak up on Luna from behind first before going upstairs to try to help her finish with Fenox.

I took care of one of the cultists swiftly, with Radiance spurring me on, the both of us eager to put an end to the evils of these worshippers of the Minotaur. The sounds upstairs began to die down, as Melody took a stab at the other from the stairs with Hosilla’s glaive. He tried to flee. Melody wasn’t going to allow that. She leapt from the stairs, and with far less regard for a glaive that isn’t her family’s sentimental one, she used it to pole-vault at the cultist, landing behind him and swinging around to stab at him once again. Still he was up. He almost made it to the door.

Just in time for Hiskaria to open the door and shoot an arrow in his face.

Somehow by some twisted luck he was still going, but Melody caught up with him once again, and maaaay have decided to show off a little to our new companion as she leapt in the air and skewered the man, finally dead.

All was quiet. I was about to be concerned about what might have happened to Luna, but then Hiskaria told me about the absolutely ridiculously amazing one sided one on one ‘fight’ she’d had with Fenox. As if I should have been worried about Luna. Hiskaria had heard the commotion and used the scale to levitate up so she’d she the last half of the fight. The upper floor didn’t have a roof, so she had been intending to shoot an arrow right into the other tiefling’s skull, but it ended up not being necessary.

See, there was a wall bisecting that room, with a door. He’d shut and locked the door to put it between him and Luna when things started looking bad. Luna had shown yet again just how little walls meant to the Butcher of Balestreet when she used the glaive she’d been holding holding for show as a means to pull herself up and over, then came down on Fenox with her axe. The Butcher one, Baphomet zero.

We met with her upstairs, where we found a shrine to Baphomet and a minotaur shaped object on the wall that was causing the room to be desecrated by its mere presence. There was also a treasure chest, so we decided that while the others went through the loot, I was going to take Radiance and have a bit of fun.

It took some time, that minotaur head was damned sturdy. But when it did break, Radiance’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t just me that heard it that time, but everyone. Their voice faded after only a moment. The others seemed a little shaken by that. I don’t really blame them. Radiance is…a lot. They’ve gone back to just being in my head now, which is probably for the best. Them quieting down entirely would probably be better, but I’m not lucky enough to have a normal holy sword that doesn’t demand the blood of demons and cultists as we fight. Ah, well. At least we agree on who our enemies are.

The chest had holy symbols and the favored weapons of multiple faiths, pointing towards the cult’s penchant for infiltration. We decided we would return them to the clerics at Defender’s Heart. Looking back I kind of wish I’d asked if they’d be okay with me keeping one. My wooden holy symbol’s seen a lot of use, and isn’t exactly the sturdiest material. Silver to match Leto’s wouldn’t have hurt. Ah, well. Hindsight and all that.

We were feeling really good after how well that went. We’d been planning on calling it a day after the tower, but since we’d used virtually none of our resources we agreed that unless we ran into particularly nasty trouble on the road we should try to clear out Topaz Solutions, report back to the Commander, and prepare to storm the Grey Garrison tomorrow.

Topaz Solutions was quite a bit farther than the tower had been from Defender’s Heart. Which meant more time for attacks from demons or other things lurking about.

First we were attack by two barbed creatures which made a terrible howling noise. Their barbs were painful when we got too close, but we cleared them out quickly enough with little trouble to speak of. No one ended up with any of the barbs stuck in them, which was a blessing. That could have proven difficult.

Then…we came to Balestreet. The demons had left the street as much a gory horror scene as one might have expected of Luna’s namesake. Here, two cultists of Baphomet tried to ambush us. Big mistake. Luna decided she was eager to make true to her nickname, and took her axe to them. They didn’t go down.

Then two arrows went straight through them, ice burst from one’s injuries, and both fell dead on the road. Hiskaria looked a bit sheepish, asking Luna if she shouldn’t have done that, since Balestreet was supposed to be Luna’s thing. Luna shrugged it off, saying it worked either way.

Remind me not to get on the bad side of the ladies in our group, they can cut quite the fearsome characters.

With that we were on our way, the rest of the walk to Topaz Solutions uneventful. The apothecary was being looted by a couple of thugs when we arrived. Luna decided to do her thing and scared them off with a few threats from the Butcher. Then we started looking around. The looters had taken anything of value, but Luna after some poking around found some ‘really nice door technology’, and opened a secret passage that led into a hidden basement. Luna and Melody snuck down first.

After a minute of waiting, Hiskaria and I heard Luna and Melody call us down, saying there was a strange mechanical doll and an image on the wall they couldn’t identify. I went down first. As Melody stepped forward to let me in, the minotaur head on the wall began to speak. It taunted us, saying it hoped we were Iomedaens so that this surprise from Baphomet wouldn’t go to waste. Then the doll began moving, and smashed a bottle, releasing a small plant creature.

There was also some kind of…gas I think? Something was in the chamber after that which was causing us various issues. Melody and I both started finding it hard to breath for instance—not so much that we were suffocating, but enough that we were wheezing and likely would have been unable to easily move stealthily.

Worse was that plant. It was in a thick patch of vines that it could move through with ease but which we struggles in. It screamed in such a way that it caused both Melody and Hiskaria to become nauseous, forcing them to flee upstairs to safety and leaving me and Luna to deal with it by ourselves. And it was small and tricky, dodging around many of our attacks in the most frustrating manner. Luna did finally squash the blasted thing, and I went over to the minotaur head and broke whatever the device was that was releasing gas into the room.

Then we searched the room and found a chest with a mocking note claiming we deserved a reward for besting the trap. Within were a number of stolen holy symbols. Luna stopped us from taking them, noting that they were covered in a contact poison.

I have decided I rather dislike this Igon Topaz, and do hope he survived the attack on the city. If only so that I may someday bring judgement upon him myself.

With all three safehouses cleared out, we’ve returned to Defender’s Heart for the night. We reported back to the Commander, and we spent some time unwinding and preparing for tomorrow. There are some merchants set up so we were able to get some supplies. And, more importantly, we got some drinks.

And even more importantly, Leto’s back.

He showed up while we were making preparations, all smiles and charm as always. He thought I’d died in a pit, I thought he’d been killed by demons, same old same old.

He looked amazing. He’s been doing well for himself. He really was the picture of a paladin in that silver armor riding up on a holy steed. Although I guess to him I must have looked maybe a little impressive with the holy sword Radiance at my side. Ah, if only he could have a conversation with them, he’d quit being impressed real quick.

Leto played up his knight in shining armor role well, flirted with Hiskaria even though she’s twice his age and a convicted murderer, and got on well with Melody. He…did not get on well with Luna. He tried, certainly, at first, but then she threw some misplaced insults about him being Raven Corps which I corrected, and then she brought up how all the reports of her being a murderer are vastly exaggerated by the Raven Corps and…it was just all around awkward, I think.

So then he introduced us to his horse, Charles, instead. He got a kick out of the fact he’d given his holy mount such a mundane name instead of something more heroic like—

Hold up. Charles.

Charlie.

Chalie Horse.

…that blasted tiefling, I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him.

I can’t decide if I’m mad about the pun, mad I didn’t catch it when we were talking about it, or mad that I didn’t think of it first.

Named his holy steed a pun, the nerve of that man...I wonder if anyone else has caught on. Commander of the Silver Legion, Leto Jules, the tiefling so charismatic he managed to sway 50,000 people to his banner…named his holy steed Charlie Horse. Inheritor help me I don’t know what to do with him.

Or how to outdo that.

Which is frustrating.

Oh well. What’re you going to do? Some days you find out your brother is not just still alive but now leading a legion on the back of a horse named Charlie and you just roll with it.

I’m glad he’s okay.

His Silver Legion is going to be joining the fight against the main forces tomorrow while our strike force goes into the Grey Garrison. So that’s more for me to worry about. But Leto’s always been a lucky bastard unlike me. He’ll be fine.

After the fact Melody, Hiskaria, and Luna decided it was really important to whisper amongst themselves and to send me away. So apparently it’s rumor time again. Yay. I’m fairly certain with them it would be nothing bad…but I can’t fathom what they could have possibly been whispering about. I suppose if they think Leto and I are related by blood it could have been about that, if they think I share his demonic bloodline…but Hiskaria is a tiefling as well, I see little reason why they would need to be secretive about it if that were the case. And quite frankly Leto and I don’t look alike. At all. Even if he weren’t golden, we don’t share even close to the same features. So I don’t think we could be mistaken for blood relatives.

I don’t know, and there’s really no use in speculating. It’s growing late, and we have a temple to siege in the morning.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 3

Hello all, here I am, once again, presenting you with more of Midnight Striga. Thank you for your consideration.

Eda grumbled, awkwardly shifting in her seat. The fact that she was stuck here, in this den of propaganda and conformity grated on every fiber of her being. Still, the chance to loot this place after the fact was incredibly enticing, feeling herself grin at the thought. Glancing to the kids next to her, Eda took stock of what Luz had shared about them; the Plant Girl had serious power to her, enough to wipe the floor with full adults if she felt like it, and the Illusion Boy was a genuine prodigy, something rare, much like herself. ‘It made sense they would end up in Luz’s odd gravity,’ she mused. As the lights started to dim, signalling the start, Eda grumbled again, longing for it to end.

Bump strode forth to his place on the terrace, raising a mic to his face. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Witches and demons of all ages!” His voice boomed, echoing across the excited crowd. “It is my pleasure,” ‘Suck it up and think of the funding Bump, think of the funding!’ “To present to you… The Emperor’s Coven!!” With an explosion of fog and light, three Guards sauntered forth, with one even launching themselves into the air for the spectacle. Bump groaned internally at the theatrics, reminding himself once again of the funding this would net him and the school. The crowd roared.

“Now, I must ask you, do you all wish to know what the pinnacle of magic is?” He called out, hamming it up.

“Is it this!?” One of Bump’s students, one of the transfers from Glandus if he recalled correctly, excitedly shouted, before magically enlarging their head, collapsing on another student and prompting chuckles from his group.

“Wow, I have failed you as a principal.” Bump bluntly stated at the off-putting sight, not entirely sure how to process it. Brushing the uncomfortable moment aside, Bump regained his momentum. “No, it stands before you! The Emperor’s Coven possesses the ability to use not one, not two, but ALL Forms of magic!!” He boldly proclaimed, as the guards below unleashed dazzling displays of power. Privately, after his conversation that day of Boscha’s brief rampage, Bump wasn’t too sure about the Emperor’s personal followers being the pinnacle they were described as.

“Whoo! Luz, did you see that!” Gus excitedly yelled, bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Eh.” Luz shrugged her shoulders, before critiquing the group below. “Powerful, but overly flashy, and not particularly quick. Wasteful of energy, and not much technique that I can see. I give it a 6 out of 10.” She clinically listed off, marking each point with a raised finger, raising an extra finger to give the score, resulting in Gus and Willow deflating over her disinterest.

Oblivious to the musings of those who had started the change that was slowly encroaching Bonesburough, and the Isles at large, Bump continued his presentation. “And now, it is my honor to present to you,” and this time he wasn’t just speaking out of his rear, “an individual who stands at the top. You know her,” light and mist pooled around his feet, “you love her,” a massive, translucent raven cawed and swooped down next to him, tucking into itself, “give it up for Emperor’s Coven Head, Lilith Clawthorne!!” The raven burst away, revealing Lilith standing next to him as he quickly stepped back, wearing the traditional cloak of the EC and a stylized mask, black-painted lips quirked up in a smile.

Eda choked on her drink (that she’d stolen), desperately sucking for air. She eeked out a hushed, “Lily?”

“You know her?” Luz asked, Willow and Gus sparing Eda a glance of light concern.

Eda gave a resigned nod. “She’s my sister.” This elicited widened eyes from the three, and Eda just knew they’d be asking questions afterward. Ugh.

Lilith walked up to the front of the terrace, mildly glad for her former principal’s presence and his glowing introduction, she would NEVER admit it aloud but she always gained the worst jitters when it came to public speaking, even if she was skilled in it. She smoothly pulled away her mask, allowing her features to be seen and admired by the crowd. She felt a smug glow of satisfaction over her looks, before focusing on the present situation. “Citizens of the Boiling Isles!!” Her voice boomed, a neat little trick she had learned for just these sorts of situations. “I am proud to stand before you today, humbled by the exaltation you have displayed.” She gave an elaborate bow, prompting a roar of enthusiasm from the crowd. 

“It wasn’t easy to rise as far as I have. I too started from humble beginnings.” This prompted some muttering from the assembled crowd, particularly from those students who were themselves from rather humble backgrounds. “But now, I possess the highest honor of enforcing the Emperor’s will!” An honor that would all be worth it when he saved her sister, her stubborn, arrogant, bleeding-heart sister. “And today, I am pleased to present my protege!” She announced, raising her hand. In a burst of light, there she stood. “Amity Blight!” As the crowd went wild, she allowed her student to bask in it, a smirk playing across her face at the barely hidden giddiness. “She has taken the steps to excel, to ascend to the highest level! Work hard, and the Emperor’s Coven awaits you!” She shouted, slamming her staff down, and with a flash, she and Amity vanished into the depths of the Center, the crowd crowing in delight behind them.

Smirking, she and Amity waltzed into the main area of the center, watching in satisfaction as the excited crowd poured from the stadium area. Turning to her with gleaming eyes, Amity said. “That was amazing Miss Lilith! You were incredible out there.” She said with a grin, before turning serious. “I must ask, when will our next lesson take place?”

Lilith hid a smirk. The girl was eager, ambitious, skilled, and dedicated; even just one of those traits would serve her well in life, but all? She would truly be a monster to contend with as she grew older. She just needed to look into subtlety a bit more. “I believe I can schedule a lesson to take place in a weeks time, sometime around the weekend. If that’s acceptable of course.” She raised an eyebrow. She knew it would be, but politeness and social expectations existed for a reason.

Amity gave a solemn nod. “Of course. I will take my leave.” She said, walking off into the crowd, entering from the area containing those who had not exited the stadium, a smart way to avoid being mobbed by the crowd.

“Take care, Amity Blight.” Lilith murmured. “It would not do for your potential to be cut short.” With her musings over, she wandered into the main body of the Covention, prepared to meet and greet her public. Ah, the sacrifices made for a life such as hers.

Amity wandered through the center, idly taking note of the various Covens that had set up today. None truly interested her, but seeing the dedication on display, the willingness to restrict oneself so deeply in pursuit of one’s personal passions was admirable in its own way. She wondered what path she would’ve taken, had she not been born a Blight; would she still have this intense drive to excel, or would she be content with simpler things? She would never truly know, but it was an interesting thought. Lost in her musings, she was rightfully started when she crashed into someone.

As she fell, Amity caught a glimpse of the person who had also taken a plunge in their collision, and her eyes widened. Chocolaty brown skin. Smooth, swirled brunette hair. A light blue shirt with a stylized picture of a cat, tucked beneath a hybrid vest and jacket of gleaming white with a climbing vine decal. Well worn beige pants, and sporty looking shoes. Wide expressive eyes. And, most telling, rounded ears. In a flash, Amity had essentially memorized her appearance. Now if only she could puzzle out why she had done so…

With a small gasp of slight pain, Amity crashed to the ground, the human girl doing so not a second later. Growling at the discomfort, Amity quickly moved to her feet, wrestling control from her temper before it reacted over an accident. “Oh man, I am so sorry for that.” The human groaned, clambering to her feet. Stretching herself out briefly, the girl gave Amity a discerning look, before familiarity dawned on her. “Oh yeah, you were at the school that day! Amity, right?” She asked, holding out a hand for a shake.

Amity glanced at the hand, and briefly contemplated not shaking, before stifling the impulse, giving the girl a firm grip. “Indeed. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, however.” She said, cocking an eyebrow. She gave a shallow bow. “I am Amity Blight, youngest of the Blight family and heir-apparent of our name and company, Blight Industries. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She recited, keeping the kind of bland, formal tone you’d expect from a meeting between politicians, prompting a mild look of surprise from Luz.

The human grinned, almost amused, much to Amity’s confusion. “Well, Miss Blight, it is a pleasure to officially meet you when you aren’t acting like a bitch.” She said bluntly, but without a hint of malice or mocking that Amity could detect.

Amity awkwardly clutched her shirt, feeling small at the reminder of her conduct from that day, however lacking in harshness that reminder was. “Indeed. Speaking of which, may I know your name?” She requested.

The human arched an eyebrow, but shrugged, agreeing. “Eh, why not. The name’s Luz Noceda. Why did you ask?”

Amity internally sighed in relief that she’d be able to finish part of her mission so quickly. “For this.” Stepping back, Amity once again bowed, this time a full bow at the waist, head parallel to the ground. “Luz Noceda, I, Amity Blight, offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct towards you prior to today. I allowed anger, suspicion, and bias to cloud my judgement, but that is no excuse for what I said to you. I was dismissive, rude, and judgmental. If my apology is insufficient, I will do anything within reason to make amends.” Amity shut her eyes tight, desperately begging to the Titan that she wouldn’t be ridiculed, that her words would be accepted. The fact that this was so public… it burned her, how many people might try and hurt her with this.

“Aw man, could you get up? There’s no need for that.” Amity cracked an eye open, spying Luz’s sardonic expression.

“I beg your pardon?” Amity started.

“Look,” Luz began, giving a loose shrug, “I’ve been called way worse before by much more horrible people than you. Was I mad when you said those things? Oh absolutely. But, I got over it, because it wasn’t worth holding a grudge against someone who probably ended up regretting it, if they hadn’t already regretted it after saying it, and had been punished enough. You okay with just forgetting about it all?”

Amity huffed, amused at Luz’s candidness. “Very well.” Her face grew serious. “However, I would like to make a request, if it isn’t too presumptuous of me.”

“Oh?” Luz mused, cocking her head. “That depends on what your request is.”

“What are you?” Amity asked, Luz pulling up short, dumbfounded. Amity continued on. “I know you’re human. But strange things have surrounded you. You helped Willow gain an immense increase in skill after just a short conversation, and was able to oversee her application of her new skill level. You were able to survive a confrontation against Boscha while she was wielding those flames. And there have been rumors about someone matching your expression appearing around town.” She slowly walked around Luz, allowing herself to gain a better look all around. “I want answers for the mysteries surrounding you. Please.” She finished, fixing a strong, unwavering stare on Luz.

Luz sighed, scratching her head. “Ugh, fine, but it’ll cost you.” She said, opening a single eye to look at Amity.

Amity nodded firmly. “How much.” She had told herself she wouldn’t be leaving the girl without answers, and even if her mother was annoyed at the expense, it would be well worth it to give Amity peace of mind.

“An apology.”

Amity paused, perplexed. “But I already gave you one?”

Luz shook her head, elaborating. “Not for me. For Willow. If you want answers, you have to apologize to Willow.”

Amity gave a smirk. “Well lucky for me I was already planning on doing just that.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Provided she grants me an apology as well.”

“Huh, looks like things’ll work out pretty easily! She wanted to give you one too.”

“In that case, I see no reason we shouldn’t look for her. Care to join me?” Amity finished, gesturing for Luz to follow her. Shrugging, the human girl followed the witch through the crowd, unaware of the elongated figure looming in the shadows.

Eda stormed through the Covention, nimble fingers snatching up odds and ends as she shifted through the crowd, looking for her quarry. As she finished stashing the last of her loot in her hair, her eyes sharpened, spotting her target. Gliding forth, she stopped dead center in front of her prey.

“Hey Lily.” Eda grinned, all teeth.

“Ah, Edalyn!” Lilith drawled, pulling herself up from where she had been signing a little Witchling’s poster. “You came after all!” She placed a hand under her chin, looking smug. “Still rooting around in the trash in that shack of yours?” She chuckled at her little ‘joke.’

Eda rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, real funny.” Getting an idea, she leaned over to the kids, she whispered. “Hey, did you kids know Lily used to wet her bed until she was-”

“Edalyn!” Lilith yelped in embarrassment as the children giggled.

Eda smirked, before pulling out her wallet (one of them anyway), and gave each child a small snail bill. “Hey, why don’t you kids all get yourselves a treat and go back to your parents, okay?” As the children eagerly nodded, rushing off, she turned to Lilith, her smile dropping into cool seriousness.

“Ugh, what do you want, Edalyn?” Lilith scoffed, folding her arms. Suddenly, she blinked, eyes brightening. “Unless… you’re finally here to join the Coven!” She cheered, a childish delight gleaming in her eyes.

“No.” Eda flatly stated.

“Oh.” Lilith said just as flatly, her excitement dead already. “Well, in that case-”

“I learned something pretty interesting, Lily.” Eda began, grabbing her sister’s attention. “About how the Emperor’s Coven presented what happened to me to the public.”

Lilith felt her blood chill; she had never really agreed with that decision, but it had been out of her hands. If Edalyn was bringing this up now… “And this holds bearing, how?” She asked, trying to play it off.

“I want you to set the record straight, Lily.” Eda said, a note of barely contained fury in her voice. “Now. If not sooner.”

Lilith reeled back. “I couldn’t possibly do such a thing! It is the Emperor’s Will!”

“Nuts to the Emperor, Lily!!” Eda shouted, slamming her fist against the wall nearest to them. “He used my pain, my trauma, my public humiliation as a way to get people to fall in line. I hate the Coven System, but I’m willing to accept that for most people, they choose to be a part of it. But using what happened to me as a way of scaring kids into falling in step!? I won’t stand for it!!”

“It’s not my decision to make, Edalyn.” Lilith coldly replied. “And really, you have no one but yourself to blame; if you just joined a Coven all that silliness would just drift away.” She firmly replied, internally begging that Edalyn would finally see reason, to agree with her, to admit she was right!!!

Eda paused. Then she chuckled. “Okay. I really didn’t want to do this. But! It looks like you aren’t giving me a real choice.” With a sigh, Eda stepped back, just enough to where she could point at Lilith at full extension. “Lilith Clawthorne, I challenge you to a Witch’s Duel.”

Nearby Witches and Demons gasped, reeling back, even as Lilith herself blinked in shock.

“Edalyn, you can’t possibly be serious!” She said, shock still coursing through her body.

“The terms are as follows,” Eda said, steadfastly ignoring the increasing mutters of the crowd. “If I win, you have to publicly admit the truth behind my curse, not that crap the Emperor peddles. If you win, I’ll join Bonehead’s little club.” She finishes, crossing her arms in defiance.

“Edalyn, you can’t be-” Lilith starts, only to cut herself off with a choke, as Eda formed the glowing white circle of an unbreakable vow, already sticking her hand through. “You really are serious.” Lilith breathes out.

“I am.” Eda says grimly. Staring at her sister’s hand trepidatiously, Lilith’s eyes flash with fear, shock, longing, pride, and finally, determination. Reaching out, she joins hands with her sister, for the first time in years… and completes the vow. The duel is officially on.

“A Witch’s Duel, eh?” A cold voice mutters in the dark, shadowed figures lurking behind them. “Well, won’t that be a fun way to start this operation.” They chuckled, their entourage cackling behind them, the cooling corpse of a Coven Guard behind them.

[faejilly]

Reticence

so a million years ago I attempted to start a Shadowhunters Persuasion AU and I am, unfortunately, never actually going to write it, (I like the original too much, I can’t seem to say anything *else* with it, which keeps bogging me down), but as standalone bits of just me being fond of Regency fic, I occasionally still poke at some of what I wrote. 

Now in Persuasion, Anne Elliot is convinced to call off her engagement to the questionably suitable Frederick Wentworth not because her own future would be at stake, (she mostly doesn’t care about that) but because she would be a drain on his potential... which is such an Alec thing to do, isn’t it? 

So, as part of the fall out from that, I wanted a moment where the person who helped convince Alec to send away Magnus realizes they were wrong. 

aka Maryse is my favorite (and Robert is a hypocrite) & here’s why [fictober #8; prompt list here] 

Alec heard something, a noise not any louder than the faint scratch of Lady Lightwood's pen across her paper as she sorted and responded to her mail, but somehow different nonetheless. He wasn't really curious but he glanced idly up from his book. (It was not as if he was terribly interested in Mrs. Ditchfield's rather melodramatic catalogue of "vanishing public lands" in Idris, but he'd needed a break from his own increasingly banal paperwork.) He closed his book with a snap and leaned forward. Lady Lightwood's back was curved, her shoulders just barely slumped, her head bowed. He'd never seen her look so, so small. He swallowed. "My Lady?"

He saw her startle, the faintest jerk across her back, and a paper he hadn't noticed slid from between her fingers to flutter slowly, gently, toward the floor.

She lifted her head and he felt like he'd been kicked by his horse. He made it half-way across the room before he'd even realize he'd stood, but had no idea what to say after he knelt by her side. Her eyes were damp, her lips just barely parted; he couldn't tell if she'd lost her words or her very breath itself. Her forehead was lined with a frown and he could see a tremble in her hands.

He'd never before seen her composure permit more than a carefully lifted brow or a slight flare of her nostrils, but this. This was so much more than upset. He'd never seen eyes like that on anyone, some terribly dark and potent mix of pain and anger and shame.

A small whisper in the back of his mind, the only part of him that seemed to be able to manage words at all, suggested he'd never seen its like only because he'd avoided all mirrors those first few days after Magnus. Mr. Bane.

He remembered what he'd wished for then: anyone or anything that made him feel less alone.

He reached out a hand, but couldn't quite make himself touch. What if this wasn't? She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, not now, never again. Her cheek was soft and very faintly damp with tears and there was a flutter of something perilously close to panic in his chest. He hadn't thought she'd let--

"Mother?" His voice was different this time, almost breaking around the word, and he wasn't at all sure what he was asking. She was clearly not all right.

She opened her eyes, and they were still darker and softer than he could recall ever having seen before. She smiled, and he felt the prickle of tears trying to form in his own eyes.

"I am so sorry, Alexander."

She hadn't. She had. He hadn't been Alexander to her since he was a child. But there was something in her voice now, something both warm and melancholy. He swallowed again. "For what?"

"For being too narrow-minded to see that there might be another way for you, that there might exist something better than the path I chose, the one I was stuck on." Her voice trailed off but he could still see her lips still moving. "For much too long."

He didn't. He couldn't, not now, not here, not with this, whatever this was. He grasped desperately at the one word he could almost understand. "Was?"

She closed her eyes again, and his eyes ached watching her spine straighten, her head lift away from his hand, her expression smooth out until it was as still as stone.

Despite the stories of her success when she'd been assigned to an Institute overseas, dead demons and rogue vampire dens shut down, despite seeing her maintain her training, sword-dances before breakfast every day, despite a lifetime watching her oversee her small army of clerks with absolute authority, Alec had never pictured Lady Lightwood in armor.

He had never realized that he'd never seen her without it, not until today.

"You do not have to come for what is about to happen." Her voice was soft, so soft, and his chest still ached from that first shock.

"Do you want me to?" He was helpless, breathless, lost, and he knew she could hear it in the lift of his voice, see it in the too wide opening of his eyes.

She blinked, the barest hint of a shimmer between her lashes. She shook her head, and her fingers almost clenched at her skirt before she shook them loose again. "Yes."

"Then I will."

"Thank you." She took a breath, let it out. She picked up the paper by her feet and stood, one quick flick of her wrist to straighten her skirts. She strode out of the room, and he scrambled to his feet to follow.

He'd passed confused and reached some sort of hapless acceptance by the time he caught up, so much so he didn't even wonder when she stopped and knocked at the door to his father's study.

He didn't think it was his own strange detachment that made it seem a much longer wait than usual before his father's voice came through to the hall. "Come in."

Lord Lightwood was standing in front of his desk, his usual easy small smile missing, his shoulders too tight, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"No." Alec's mother flicked the letter out of her hand into the space in front of her, and his father flinched.

Alec's head ached, and he missed the fleeting sense of distance that had buoyed him down the hall and into this doorway. He had never considered whether or not his parents had ever been in love; most people's parents weren't. But he had always believed them a team, partners in at least the intellectual sense. Only the look in his mother's eyes had been worse than a banshee's wail and now they were here, and the letter was resting quietly on his father's carpet.

"Maryse," Lord Lightwood finally spoke, and sighed, as if this really was too much to bear. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Did you not realize that that could be my only possible answer?" There was anger there in his mother's voice, but also a lift of true bewilderment.

"If it is because I had not yet talked to you before you received the notification," Lord Lightwood finally let a flicker of emotion cross his face, a hint of a shrug lifting the tension in his shoulders.

Alec's mother scoffed, and his father shut his mouth. "While it is singularly cowardly to request a divorce through our lawyer rather than having the spine to speak to me directly, no. You just saved me from having to temper my words. No, never, and no again."

Divorce. Lawyer? Via letter? It took several heart-beats before it sank in, before he could make the words makes sense. Alec had to curl his fingers to resist a newly discovered desire to punch his father in the face.

"Divorce is not nearly the scandal it used to be." Robert shook his head, still quiet, still calm. "It is not like there is any true impediment--"

"Whose fault is that?" Maryse took half a step forward, her voice loud enough to echo faintly despite the wood panelling and heavy shelves. "I never--" Her voice broke, too sharp an edge to continue.

Alec wondered about the potential benefits of stabbing over punching.

Maryse took a deep breath, her voice steadying. Cooling. "Lady Highsmith may have put off her mourning, but I will not sacrifice our children's reputations so that you may escape your duties."

"Our children are well able--" Robert was still talking, but Alec wasn't listening. He put his hand on the doorframe and bowed his head. Lady Highsmith. Lady Annemarie Highsmith, whose husband had died a little over a year ago. They'd gone to the funeral.

Lady Lightwood had left as soon as it was polite to do so. Lord Lightwood had not.

Alec remembered more, now. It had been odd, but he'd been so young he hadn't realized how odd. Izzy had been so little, practically a baby still, and she'd woken up for some reason. An owl, a scraped branch, it hadn't mattered. She'd crawled into Alec's bed, half awake, half shivering. She couldn't get back to sleep without her favorite doll, the one with the white robes like an Iron Sister. Winasee, she'd sniffled. She'd left it in the small sitting room, the one with the window seat. Alec had gone down to get it and they'd been there, his father and Lady Highsmith. Just talking, but it was the middle of the night, and his father had hurried him back upstairs before he'd asked for the doll, before he'd managed a single word at all.

Alec had spent the night with Izzy, rubbing her back until she finally relaxed enough to sleep, her tiny hand clenched around his nightshirt. He'd fallen asleep to the comforting steady sound of her breathing. They'd rescued the doll before breakfast, and he'd forgotten the whole thing.

"Twenty years." Alec hadn't realized hepd spoken aloud until he lifted his head. His father was blinking at him, eyes wide as a startled rabbit, as if he hadn't even noticed Alec standing there before he spoke. "Twenty years?"

He didn't recognize the heat filling the hollows in his chest, didn't realize he'd stepped forward until he felt his mother's hand on his arm. He stuttered to a halt. He turned to look at her and she smiled, small and sad, and shook her head.

He almost whined aloud with how strongly he needed to disagree with her. Some small deep part of his heart that he had not realized was still whole had just broken to join the rest of the shards and he wanted to howl at that terrible, terrible smile.

But he was here for her support. Not patricide. However tempting.

He took a step back and nodded, though his throat burned and his jaw was too tight. His hands were now clenched so tightly he could feel his nails pressing into his palms.

Lord Lightwood had, if not an appropriate level of shame, the self-preservation instinct to avoid meeting Alec's eyes.

"You seem to think." Alec's mother began again, only a slight shiver down her spine to show how much it cost her. "That is to say, that it appears, from here, that you wish to indulge your own desires while everyone else suffers the consequences. I cannot in good conscience allow you to present that sort of behavior as an acceptable example to our children."

Maryse paused, as if waiting for a protest. Lord Lightwood looked slightly green. Alec felt the tiniest smile caught behind his lips.

"That said, I am not cruel enough to make you maintain this charade of a marriage in private." There was a hint of sharp edged emphasis to that "I", and Alec wondered how long she'd known, how long Lord Lightwood had made her live like this. Alec lifted a hand to touch her gently on the shoulder. She shot him a quick glance, eyes wide and terrified and relieved and sad and he couldn't even tell, really, but it looked very much like his own heart had felt for most of the past four years, ever since he'd driven Mag— Mr. Bane away.

She turned back around, and Alec could tell that something in her posture had eased, just a little. "I will be removing myself and my personal effects from here, the Lightwood family seat, and residing at the Trueblood townhouse in Alicante. You are free to live on your properties however you desire."

Lord Lightwood's face flickered through half-a-dozen almost expressions too quickly to be interpreted, but ended on something approaching cautious relief.

"But let me make one thing perfectly clear." Alec almost retreated a step. He wondered if she'd managed to kill some of those demons with that voice all on its own; it sounded fatal enough. "My personal effects include all access to the Trueblood coffers for anything beyond the care of our tenants. I will not allow my family's legacy to support yours or your mistress' lifestyle. Find a way to pay your own bills."

Alec didn't bother watching Lord Lightwood bleed out on the study floor. He spun around and followed his mother as she swept out of the room.

Once past any possible view from the study she stumbled through the very next door in the hallway, a staging room for the servants. It was barely big enough for two to stand besides the shelves of linens and cleaning products, but still Alec followed, and he shut the door quietly behind them.

Her shoulders were moving too quickly up and down, and he could hear the repeated hitch in each breath even before she lifted her face to look at him, tears just starting to fall from her eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you, you didn't need to see..."

"Shh," Alec cut her off, and slowly reached towards her shoulders. She almost fell forward, and her arms wrapped around him, clinging tightly. He stroked her hair until he couldn't feel her shoulders shaking, until she gave one last sniff and lifted her head from his now thoroughly dampened shoulder. "You have nothing to apologize for, mother."

"That is not at all true." Her mouth twisted into something that was trying to be a smile. "I have hurt all my children over the years, and I think I caused you the most harm of all."

He shook his head a little, but not because he disagreed. He just, he couldn't.

She seemed to understand. Her lips twisted in for a breath before she sighed. "Right now I must apologize for doing that in front of you. I accused your father--"

"Lord Lightwood." Alec interrupted.

His mother blinked at him, her lashes thick and damp and almost sticking together. "He will always be--"

"Not today he's not."

Alec's mother reached out a hand, and laid her palm gently against his chest, right above his heart. She looked at his face, her eyes searching back and forth, but she couldn't quite seem to find the words for whatever she had wanted to say.

She let her hand fall back to her side. "I accused Robert of cowardice, but I was no more able to confront him by myself than he had been able to speak to me on his own. I needed." She couldn't quite manage a shrug, the movement looking more like a shiver through her body.

"You needed someone on your side."

"I was going to say reinforcements." She almost laughed, and still he wanted to cry. "I seem to have approached too many situations as battles to be overcome, rather than difficulties to share."

"I'll always be your reinforcements, mother."

"I have always been on your side, Alexander." She leaned forward now, her voice low and steady, her eyes focused on his. "I did you injury, but it was never my intent. I always thought I was keeping you safe, helping you be strong. I was wrong, and I am sorry."

She leaned back and shook out her skirts. "But that is a conversation for another time. Right now, I need to start packing."

"As do I, apparently." Alec reached back and opened the door behind him, allowing them both to return to the hallway.

His mother paused before shutting the door, head tilted as she examined Alec. "You hate living in Town."

"Not as much as I need to not be here." He offered her his arm, and his next breath felt small and fragile and warm as she took it. "May I escort you to your rooms to freshen up?"

His mother's lips twitched, and her inhale sounded suspiciously like a swallowed snort. "That is an excellent idea, thank you."

"I do try." He started walking down the hall, slow and steady, as if this was just a normal day. As if his world hadn't just shattered to pieces again. As if everything was fine. As if he had some idea what he was going to do tomorrow.

"I love you." His mother's voice was clear and steady and sure.

Maybe some things were better today than yesterday. "I love you too, mother."

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

Let me tell you a good story

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place after Bloodbound 3, here I’m recreating how Kamilah and MC would meet if she had never gone to Raines Corporation right away.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, Kamilah is now a wife and a mother. During a regular family dinner, she decides to tell her daughter and the new son-in-law the story of how she fell in love with Annie after an unusual meeting through the hallways of NYU.

Warnings: none.

Part 1 Part 3

Let me tell you a good story - Part 2

March 2nd, 2048 

 “You’re telling it wrong.” Anna shook her head in disbelief. “Kamilah Sayeed, you be a woman and admit to them that you checked my butt when I was opening the office’s door.”

“I don’t think they need to know that part. It’s not an important piece of information.”

 “Ha! But me shivering when you sensually pressed yourself against me is an important piece of information?”

 “I did not sensually pres…”

 “Guys!” Lysia hit the table, laughing. “Focus!”

“Maybe I should be the one telling the rest now” Anna pinched Kamilah’s arm playfully. “Since you’re omitting the good bits.”

 “You know what, my love? That is not a bad idea. I want to hear your version of the next part. It’s my favourite one.” Kamilah eyes had a glimpse of amusement. “And you do not dare to hide anything from our conversation in the hallway.”

While trying not to blush over that memory – and failing – Anna turned to Lysia and Drake with a happy broad smile on her face. “So, let’s continue. We went for coffee. And you mother just couldn’t stop staring at my butt.”

Kamilah rolled her eyes but didn’t interrupt it.

 August 15th, 2018

 “So, how do you like your coffee?” Anna had guided them to a small coffee cart by the side of the building. There was barely anyone around, unlike the other gigantic coffee carts they passed by. 

The woman arched her eyebrows to the small old man playing some sort of card game with a kid. They were speaking a language she couldn’t understand. “Black. No sugar.”

“Figured.” Anna laughed softly, approaching the old man and playing a kiss on both his cheeks before starting to talk in the same language as them. “Tudo bem, Antônio? Pode me fazer dois cafés pretos extrafortes? Um deles sem açúcar, por favor.”

“You know him?” She asked when the girl took a step back, waiting for the coffee.

“Yup.” Annie drove her attention to the kid on the floor. He looked back when felt her hugging from behind, smiling and waving to both women. “I stay here a lot.”

“So I see…” those brown eyes once again started to analyse the cart, now with less suspicion. “That language you spoke. Was it Portuguese?”

“Yeah. Got it right away, huh? People usually think it’s Spanish or Italian. Every time I tell them I’m Brazilian, they just start to speak Spanish with me… Or a really loud and slow version of English. Both suck. My Spanish is horrible. And I’m not deaf.”

“Aqui, Aninha. Dois cafés bem fortes. Um sem açúcar, e o seu bem doce.” Antônio gave her a warm smile. He always remembered how Annie liked her coffee. She paid for it with a five-dollar bill and refused any change.

Slowly, they started to walk away with their coffees. The sunset was almost over, a dark shade of orange shining on Anna’s black wavy hair. She kept her eyes staring at the floor, lips twitching with indecision. It seemed she was trying to find the right words. The stranger besides her had such an intimidating aura that suddenly Anna felt like a shy teenager again, not the impressive college professor who won tons of arguments during congresses. She tried to gather courage to look at the woman once again, her mouth opening to ask a question, but someone interrupted with a touch on the shoulder.

“Anna?” They turned to face another college professor. She looked no more than thirty, blue eyes shining behind blond bangs. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just passing by. Did you get the chance to read my email?”

“No worries, Faith. I’m the one who should be apologizing, I did read the email, but I was so distracted by the donations this week I forgot to give you an answer. It was about the article, right? You sent me a sketch?”

“Yes, yes. For a new magazine we’re working on. It’s due to Monday. I was wondering if you could take a look and help me fix the mistakes. I’m sure there are plenty of them.”

The one named Faith took a step forward, practically excluding the other woman from the conversation. There was something on her smile, a hint of a special admiration.

“To Monday? Gosh, I’m so sorry. Let’s do the following. Are you staying for the lecture today?” Anna pointed to the sign on the wall. They were having those big weekly lectures with different CEOs and tonight was going to be a Mrs. K. Sayeed speaking… Among others less important names.

“What? Oh. Yeah. I am.” She cleared wasn’t planning to until now.

“Perfect. That’ll give me time to read it again and make better notes. When the lecture finishes, come and meet me at my office, we can talk about it. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Ann. I’ll see you later.” Faith took another step forward, kissing Annie on both cheeks before turning back to the building.

The woman beside her had a judgemental look on her face.

“What?” Anna took a sip of the coffee.

“Do all of your co-workers kiss you?”

“I’m Brazilian. We kiss people on the cheek. Regularly. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“She is definitely not Brazilian. I don’t think her kissing was over politeness.”

“Why, are you jealous?” Anna opened a teasing smile.

The woman answered with a short laugh. “No.” But her eyes were sparkling. Analysing. Right now, she was capturing Annie’s features: the pink-flowered blouse stuck inside social pants, stains of coffee on one of the blazer’s sleeves, her short stature, those black burning eyes. 

“Why are you here?” The professor’s voice cracked the silence that lingered between them. “I mean, you’re not a student. Is it the lecture?”

“Oh. Yes. I have to be there in ten minutes.” A flash of discomfort crossed Annie’s face after hearing those words. “What? Something against the lecture?”

“No. Not exactly. It’s just… Not my kind of thing.”

“How so?”

They were back at the entrance. Anna leaned her head for a second, deciding what to do. Then, she took a step in, waiting to be followed by the woman.

“Well. Let’s just say that listening to billionaires giving advices to a hundred rich kids about how to perpetuate the same M.O. of exploitation their parents and grandparents had been doing for decades is not on my top list of good use of academic time and space.” That was the sincerest she could be without cursing. “I’d rather watch other lectures.”

“Did you watch any of the previous ones to have such a sharp opinion?”

“I did, in fact. Two. The first one, with the Canadian guy, Mr. Phelps. And last week. I had some spare time. It was… Raines. Adrian Raines. From Raines Corporation. He was better than Phelps. A little.”

The woman seemed to stiff a bit.

“What about tonight? Do you know the speakers?”

Anna’s eyes moved away to the floor. Every time she had to search for something in her memory, there were these little signals. Fingers entangling, like a little prayer about to start. Eyebrows furrowing. Lips pressing. The unknown woman noticed it all, since she couldn’t stop looking at the professor.

“Three of them. Mr. Walker. He’s a teacher here. Stupid, arrogant, and too touchy around female professors, may I add. I also know Haley, Haley Dens, I helped her with a job interview a while ago. We met during a lecture at Columbia. She’s nice, but I’m not familiar with her work. I also know the main attraction, not on person, but I read her thesis. Ms. K. Sayeed. Solid thesis. Better than Mr. Raines.”

“Hm. Tell me more about it.”

Anna kept her posture, walking slower by the minute. “How can I say it? I sensed… A little bit of naivety on Mr. Raines thesis. He’s not actually perpetuating the status quo, instead he tries to fix it’s problems, make it into a new system by improving the qualities. This doesn’t work. He’s just embellishing something that’s already broken. Ms. Sayeed is clever. Her mistakes are different ones.”

The silence and the curious look on the woman’s face were pushing Anna to continue.

“Hm. Ok. Let’s just say that Ms. Sayeed thesis is more consisting, but the end is frustrating. She admits the system sucks. With better words, of course. And that it’s impossible to fix it. So far, I’m on board. But then, her analysis stop. It’s like a Fukuyama kind of thing, you know? He said history was over. Ms. Sayeed is claiming economy is doomed. Dead. Over. Nothing to do. No one can change things. I beg to differ. That’s such a stupid and lazy conclusion. I do believe the system is broken, and fixing it won’t take us anywhere… That’s why we need to build a new one. From scratch.”

“A dreamer, aren’t you?”

Annie lifted her gaze to find a malicious smile on the woman’s face. She was suddenly stunted by the beauty of it. All the seriousness on her tone, the posture, the entangled fingers, all of it dropped. Suddenly, the college professor returned to the hypnotized teenager mode, bouncing from one foot to another. She looks like a goddess. Oh my. Oh my. She’s… Wait. Who is she?

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. I was so distracted I forgot to ask your name.”

The woman’s brown eyes locked with Anna’s as she approached. For a moment, the professor thought they were going to kiss. Her back was pressed against the pillar, so dangerously close to the stranger that lavender parfum started to dominate her senses. And even though there were a few students walking around, she wouldn’t mind having that gorgeous woman kissing her in the middle of the hallway.

“Kamilah.” She tucked a lock of hair behind Anna’s ear. The small touch sent electric signals through their bodies. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”

“Nice to meet you too.” That was barely a whisper. Her voice was gone. Disappeared.

And all Anna could do was watch as that goddess step back and head inside the auditorium, wondering if all that talk was real. If she was real.

The coffee definitely is. The taste of it was lingering on her tongue.

So was the desire to kiss Kamilah.

[kog0ruhn]

A Layman’s Guide to Shriek (a.k.a. The Most Obnoxious Woman on Sornieth)

If you can’t tell, in the great big world of my clan lore, Shriek is kind of a big deal. It’s hard to believe considering that her entire appearance is absolutely ridiculous and (in my head) she sounds like a female Bobcat Goldthwait, but she’s a powerful girl with a powerful grip on The Abandoned. You know, despite the fact that she has no trade skills to speak of and (until recently) wasn’t very good at the whole “fighting” thing.

But who is Shriek and why is she so important?

Welcome to V-Sauce, where we’ll be discussing this catastrophe in-depth.

Shriek was born above the Windswept Plateau, in a den on the Cloudsong. Her parents were lenient “hippie” parents, the draconic equivalent of New Age hipsters who think that disciplining their kid in any fashion will ruin them psychologically. This doesn’t couple well with Shriek since, from an early age, she’s been a curious and impulsive noodle who is easily distracted, endlessly energetic, and more than a little destructive. Much of her childhood was spent breaking everything she touched and making other kids uncomfortable, while her parents just nodded along in the background and told their neighbors, “She’s such a precocious girl, isn’t she?”

Her best friend growing up was an older coatl named Ramses. He was a transplant from an Earth clan who lived with his adoptive family, and wound up befriending Shriek because she decided they were friends and forced it to become true. He was bigger, she was more forceful, and they wound up getting into all sorts of trouble together. Every last shred of it was Shriek’s fault but Ramses, being passive as he was, had a habit of taking the fall for a lot of it.

Eventually, Shriek’s behavior got them both kicked out of their clan when Shriek--being the absolute genius she is--lost control of herself during a race with Ramses and managed to take herself out by crashing into the Windsinger effigy. The damage was minor and fixable (though Shriek still thinks the head looks crooked), but enough was enough. Everyone came together and decided, “This shit’s gotta stop.” 

Ramses was heartbroken, but Shriek decided she could do better. And “better” was “The Outlanders.”

Who are The Outlanders?

The Outlanders are one of the clans in The Abandoned alliance, though nobody really wanted them there at first. They’re the culmination of Shriek’s surprisingly silver tongue and tendency to prey on want to help the desperate. Her intentions were always good--fellow outcasts with nowhere to go made her heart ache, and she wanted to provide them with a place of safety--but her methods were borderline harassment. While the bulk of the old guard of Outlanders will say they’re fine with where they are now, they’ll be the first to admit that Shriek pestered them for days to join up with her because she’s a neurotic mess who couldn’t stand the thought of leaving folks behind.

Even if they wanted to be left behind.

Pictured: Vincent, who wanted to be left behind.

The problem with The Outlanders is that Shriek didn’t really ever take the longevity of the clan into consideration. She didn’t give a good goddamn if there were capable hunters, crafters, and tradesmen around her. She recruited based on sentiment, sympathy, and whoever she found interesting. Ramses, who was stuck with her because what else would he do, acted as her right hand and the straightman of the whole ordeal, trying to figure out how to organize things to be sustainable while Shriek grabbed loners off the street and announced they were tagging along. 

It wasn’t fun and there was a metric shit-ton of turnover in the membership of the clan. Dragons were in and out like kids at a McDonald’s Playplace.

Things became a little more stable when Shriek’s entourage of oddities wound up in Dragonhome, and Ramses forced her to settle down and make some alliances before they ran out of food and supplies. It required practically pinning her down at the Altar of Naught and frantically pantomiming apologies on her behalf, but she was eventually allowed to stay because her followers displayed a variety of niche skills that piqued The Fifteen’s interest.

Pictured: The “niche interest” people were interested in, because nothing catches a politician’s interest like a goddamn assassin.

So, You Joined an Alliance? Now What?

Well, if you’re Shriek, you’re not much for politics and The Abandoned requires a lot of politicking. This new alliance meant she was now part of The Fifteen and had to attend meetings and make negotiations and generally be what Ramses had been the entire time The Outlanders existed. She had no experience and found the whole thing annoying. She found her fellow clan leaders dry and dreadful, and thought most of their ideas were shit.

In particular, she wasn’t a fan of Snap who was a lot more judgmental, strict, and generally rough to deal with. She didn’t like the fact that so many dragons in the council were afraid to stand up to her so, despite being a tiny speck compared to the impressively buff Plague Guardian screaming over everyone’s head, she started to “negotiate” by loudly disagreeing with everything Snap said. The louder Snap got, the louder Shriek got, and arguments began to eat up council minutes. Everyone found it frustrating except for Shriek who thought she was standing up for the little guy instead of stalling progress and completely missing the point that Snap--harsh as she was--was actually a very good leader who was very good at setting her emotions aside to get shit done right.

This earned her a bit of a reputation as an annoyance and a troublemaker, and made it difficult for The Outlanders to really get anything out of joining The Abandoned. Ramses would occasionally attempt to go behind Shriek’s back and make deals, but Shriek usually managed to botch things anyway. Nobody liked her, everyone hated her, her own clan began to talk about mutiny as time wound on. Folks wanted to appoint Ramses leader or leave altogether.

Then, uh... Flauros happened right when things started to get real nasty.

The Fuck’s a Flauros?

That Looks Bad.

That is bad.

Flauros is a dragon who isn’t a dragon. She’s Shade-based, had no real mind of her own, and just randomly started destroying The Abandoned in a controlled attack that I’ve discussed a lot on my Flight Rising blog. The long and short of it is that a couple of asshole Mirrors who knew their magic managed to steal a summoned creature (Flauros) from her master, then used her to commit mass murder while making it appear as though she was doing it on her own. Lots of dragons died, entire clans were destroyed, The Fifteen became significantly less than Fifteen, and Shriek proved her mettle by using her context clues to solve the mystery, unmask the baddie, and then steal Flauros and use her to absolutely obliterate the Scooby-Doo villain at the end.

This should have marked Shriek as a hero and, in a lot of ways, it did. People realized fairly quick that without Shriek’s abstract way of thinking, stubbornness, curiosity, and attention to detail, that The Abandoned probably would have been wiped off the face of the earth. The problem is that, when all was said and done, Shriek--now wielding the enchanted amulet that Flauros was bound to--refused to turn it over to the bigger, better authorities so that they could get rid of Flauros once and for all.

There’s a number of reasons for her refusal. One was that, after years of being ridiculed and treated badly by The Fifteen (which was, honestly, her fault), she loved having something that made her the de facto strongest of the lot. Flauros and the acquisition of Flauros were proof that she was a competent dragon and gave her a nice shrield against her detractors. Secondly, she was maybe a little motivated by the fact that it pissed Snap off since Snap blatantly abused her authority and influence during the fight against Flauros (which, admittedly, worked out in The Abandoned’s favor and was done because she thought it was the best course of action).

Third was the biggest reason: It was very hard for Shriek to not think of Flauros as a dragon no matter how many times she was told that Flauros was definitely not a dragon. It looked and talked like a dragon, and nothing that happened was actually Flauros’ fault. The idea of her being “killed” for something she wasn’t responsible for made Shriek’s stomach turn, and she felt it was her personal responsibility to save her since she’s the one who “rescued” her in the first place.

And How Did That Turn Out?

What Does That Mean?

Flauros began to become a lot like Shriek. And Shriek began to become a lot like Flauros.

Because of the psychological impact that Shade energy has on dragons and Flauros now being bound to Shriek, she began to change. She was still excitable and energetic, but a lot of folks noted that Shriek was also more serious, dutiful, and even hostile. Actions she used to make out of spite were abandoned (for instance, she started working with Snap pretty easily), but any slight against her was met with rage. There was something dark boiling in that little green noodle, and everyone, even Shriek, knew Flauros was responsible for it.

The flip side was that Flauros started becoming sentient, and with that sentience she became mischievous, curious, and developed a strong sense of justice. Traits that a lot of people associated with Shriek.

It evens out in a lot of ways.

The fortunate part of Shriek’s change in demeanor is that it made her more capable when shit hit the fan in the wake of Flauros’ rampage, when a nasty little Spiral named Elder decided to stir up some civil unrest and then lead a charge against The Abandoned while their pants were down. Even though The Outlanders (and Shriek specifically) were exiled from the alliance, she kept her wits about her in a situation where she’d normally lose her mind. Then, grabbing Flauros by the horns, she cornered Elder in a cave and brought it down on top of him.

Not Flauros, as everyone thinks. Shriek. Shriek collapsed a cavern on top of another Spiral to keep him from murdering everyone to death.

So, Does This Mean She’s a Hero Again?

Yes, mostly. Folks are still wary of her moodswings and Flauros, but you can’t really not treat the girl who saved your ass twice with respect. 

And so Shriek still sits with The Fifteen, her clan was allowed back into the alliance, Flauros is mostly left alone, and she spends her days doing Shriek things as per usual. She’s starting to act more like herself again, albeit with a bit of a dark turn, and Ramses is just glad he can spend more time with his daughter than managing the PR nightmare that is his boss.

But know that when danger rears its ugly head again, Shriek is probably going to be the first one on the front lines because, much like the honey badger of yore, Shriek don’t give a shit. 

[zwritesthings]

Write about a character getting off at the wrong bus stop.

Sorry this took so long, nonny! My friend called and then this… also became much longer than flashfiction should be. I hope you enjoy it? Send me a prompt!

“Yes mom, I’ll be home soon, no I won’t forget to pick-up the milk. Bye mom!” Laura hung up on her mother as she got off the bus, tossing her phone into her bag and running a hand through her hair. That was the third time her mother has called her that day to remind her to pick up the milk. As if she’d forget! She was a perfectly competent adult human woman and did not need to be reminded three times. She shook her head as if shaking off her frustration at her mother and began to make her way down the street. But the further she walked the stranger things became. It still looked like her street, same pieces of grass growing through the cracks of the pavement, the same trees waving their limbs at her from above, the same ugly, heroine den of a corner shop with its peeling yellow paint and rusted sign reading One Stop. But there was something off about the grass and the trees and the shop. Like someone had drawn and then copy and pasted an image of what these things were supposed to look like but didn’t quite understand what they were. But the building was still there and the grass still green and Laura was going to get that milk, dammit, even if it meant dealing with creepy feelings. With a new sense of vigour Laura stomped her way over to the store, careful to look both ways before crossing the street, and pushed open the filthy, glass door. The neon Open sign flashed and sparked and the door made the usual ding but she paid it no mind. She whistled as she walked through the store, looking at the snacks and pocketing a candy bar while at it. This place was practically a crack den in the back, they could afford to lose a candy bar or two. Her whistle turned into a hum as she reached the fridge, scanning the contents for the milk. As she looked, she thought back to how strange everything the atmosphere outside was and then it finally hit her. 

She was the only person on the street.At this realisation she whirled around, looking around the shop. School ended not too long ago so the shop should have been filled with kids stealing snacks and distracting Barry, the owner. But the shop was empty, the only sound coming from the zoom of the refrigerators and her breathing. Laura was acutely aware of her breathing. 

This, coupled with the weird feelings from outside could only mean one thing. 

She got off at the wrong stop. 

Laura groaned, a lot like a child close to throwing a tantrum, before pulling out the candy bar in her pocket and ripping it open. She bit into it, ferociously, swearing all the while and berating herself. You couldn’t pay attention, could you? 

You HAD to be looking at that cute girl before your mom called, didn’t you? Dammit, you know to count the bus stops.You didn’t thank the driver. That last one caused a weight to sink in the pit of her stomach, as if the candy she had eaten clumped together and nestled, deep within her gut, before becoming lead with spines. It burrowed deeper, as the full force of that last thought settled within her. She felt fear scurry up her throat like a mouse.The rumoured EverField BusStop was a local legend in Reins, the town where Laura grew up. It appeared between 1pm and 5pm, before coming again at 2am to 4am. No one in the town knew where it came from or why it existed, just that it was an extra stop between Faircross Avenue and Bellington Lane on a Monday and Wednesday, but would be different on the other days of the week. The stop was rumoured to take on whatever place you were thinking of at the time – for Laura, it was Faircross Avenue – but the place would be devoid of people and no one else would get on or get off. It would be only you and whatever street you were thinking of, and whatever lived on that street. Because no one knew what happened to those people who got off at the wrong stop. Only few returned, either mute or suicidal, all killing themselves within three days of entering back into the real world. While the town never spoke of EverField, there was one rule that had to be followed, no matter what: thank the bus driver. Granted, this was common courtesy, but there was speculation that the bus driver was the only one who could bring you back. But there was something else: the buses in Reins didn’t have normal drivers, or at least, no one ever saw their faces. You never heard of children saying they want to become a bus driver, nor did you hear anyone talking about a relative, a parent, or a loved one in the profession. The bus drivers didn’t exist. They’re only purpose was to drop people off at their destination. Did the same bus drivers have the same busses? Did they have names? No one knew. You just scanned in your bus card or tossed in standard the bus fair into the coin container, and that was it. You thanked the driver as you got off, because that was just how it was in Reins. Because people didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t.Except Laura had to think about it, because she didn’t thank the bus driver. So what did that mean? Did it mean anything at all? For all she knew, it was just rumours and horror stories to keep children from getting off at the wrong stop and to be polite. Whose to say any of this was real? Except she knew. Deep-down she knew this was real and she was in EverField and she didn’t thank the bus driver and now – now what? Was she stuck here? Was the bus driver going to emerge later and suck out her eyeballs? Or would that bus never come back this way?That gave her an idea. She checked the time on her phone, but she couldn’t read it. The numbers on her screen had turned into strange squiggles and symbols, nothing like normal numbers at all. Well, that was okay! She’d just wait at the bus stop until another bus came by! That would work, right? Another bus had to come back at some point, right? She didn’t dwell on it, having already made the decision. Taking a few more candy bars, chocolate, and chips, before stuffing them in her bag, she made her way over to the bus stop. Except it was gone. The bus stop, was nowhere in sight. Laura searched, peering down the street to see if maybe, the bus stop was lower down.  She kept walking, but when it still didn’t appear she picked up the pace to a brisk walk, then to a jog, then to an outright run. It had to be somewhere, it had to. It had to, it had to, it had to. But no matter how far she ran, there was still no bus stop. Finally, she collapsed onto her knees, panting, long hair sticking to her sweaty face. Well, if there was no bus stop, then she would go back to the shop. She could sit there and wait it out and figure out what to do. With a deep breath she stood, legs unsteady, and turned around, only to be met with an endless expanse of concrete, the sun beating heavily down, making it look more white than grey. And as she began to walk she noticed the same grass, as if copy-pasted into the same place every few feet. And the same trees. And the same cracks in the side walk. In the distance, she saw a bus come towards her and she cried out in joy, running towards it, arms stretched like the bus was an oasis and she was a dying man. But as it neared it vanished into smoke right before her and she swore she could hear a cackle and a whisper, like a tendril of curling smoke; 

‘You should have thanked me.’

[ladywolfmd]

Ships that Pass in the Night

Part I & II | Part III & IV | Part V & VI | Part VII & VIII | Part IX & X

V. The Party

Jon checked his watch and knew he was very late to the Manderlys’ annual ball. There was nothing he could do about it. His crew dragged him into a late lunch at the Lazy Eel and it took some time to get back to the Wolf’s Den and then he had to go up the hill to Merman’s Court.

Once he got there, everyone was already gathered over the open theatre in the middle of the vast courtyard.

He could recognize the music playing from one of the musicals his mother loved. It was Queen Naerys’ solo from the play, Knight of Tears.

Jon briefly remembered that this was the part where Ser Aemon disguised as the Knight of Tears, had just crowned his sister, Naerys, queen of love and beauty for he couldn’t bear her to be humiliated since their brother, King Aegon planned to crown one of his mistresses, and where, Queen Naerys dances her joy after being miserable in her loveless marriage to the king.

He found himself a spot to watch and immediately his breath got caught at the graceful dancer.

He didn’t recognize her, not with her silver hair bound and crowned with different blooms. Not with her face half concealed with a black silk mask. Yet for some reason, he felt he knew her.

And as she glided across the stage almost effortlessly, his mind started sending him images of red hair, a green dress with wolves, and the sound of teasing.

“You really don’t know how to dance, don’t you, Jon Snow? Very well, I’ll teach you.”

Continue reading on AO3 or here.

The sound of applause brought him back from his thoughts, his hands joined instinctively as he blinked through the haze and saw the dancer take her bow.

Before he could make sense of anything, blue eyes met his own grays, and he found himself stuck in between the dreaming and the present once more.

Blue eyes.

Alive. And warm. Filled with love.

In a blink, the same bright eyes dimmed.

Cold.

Empty.

Dead.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back once more and he was staring at his friend, Daryn Hornwood, his half-brother Larence, and his wife Alys trailing behind. All their mouths were moving but Jon had yet to understand.

Another squeeze on his shoulders made him finally focus. “You alright?”

Jon mustered a half-smile and a nod. “I’m fine,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m good. Sorry I’m late.”

“Well, what’s important is you’re here,” Daryn grinned then followed his line of sight. “What’s wrong? Are you looking for someone?”

“Or are you avoiding anyone,” Alys raised a brow.

Jon didn’t even realize he was seeking out the dancer.

“I think he’s looking for Wylla’s guest,” Larence smirked at him, earning chuckles from the other two.

“I wasn’t,” Jon said defensively. It was partly true. He wasn’t actively looking for her but a nagging feeling in the back of his head wants him to.

“Were you able to watch the dance?” Daryn waggled his brows earning a smack from Alys.

“Not from the beginning,” he admitted.

“Anyway, do you have a guest with you?” Daryn cocked his head to the side.

Jon shook his head.

“Ah. Perfect. You should meet the dancer then. I think she came with your plane.”

Jon almost choked. “Excuse me?”

Alys rolled her eyes after she glared at Daryn. “Stop being crude. This mystery guest of Wylla supposedly took the flight you flew.”

His heart started racing inexplicably. “Oh? Lots of people took that flight.”

“The man has a point, bro,” Larence shrugged. “Anyway, no one knows who she is yet and that’s just Daryn’s way of fishing for information.”

Jon shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t really know if there was a person of interest on the plane with me.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Daryn sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll find out later on.”

“Why all the mystery though?” Alys asked.

Daryn shrugged. “Beats me. Ask Wylla.”

“Ask Wylla what?”

They all turned to see Wylla behind them, flipping her long green-dyed hair and smirking.

Daryn slung an arm around Jon’s shoulder that he immediately pushed away. “Jon here was just curious about this friend of yours.”

Wylla’s eyes glinted while her smirk deepened. “Are you now? Because my friend is very single.”

Jon slid a hand down his face and groaned.  First his crew and now his old hiking team.

“Just who is your lovely friend, Wylla?” Larence asked.

Wylla grinned. “You guys  might recognize her for sure but hold on, I’ll go get her. She’s just changing out of her costume.”

They watched as Wylla headed off backstage but just as they saw her come out, Jon was suddenly dragged away by Tormund and Val who magically appeared.

He could hear Wylla asking where he was. “Guys, I can’t find her—where’s Jon?”

VI. The Empty Ballroom

Sansa stumbled into the lesser ballroom that she knew the Manderlys hasn’t used in ages. She felt guilty for wanting to hide out a bit but as timing showed, right after her performance, the reviews from her last show had just gone up and everyone was starting to recognize her as more than just Warden Ned Stark’s daughter.

They people didn’t know she chose to dance professionally. All they knew was that she was still in King’s Landing on a pre-law program, which she was, a few years ago. But she just didn’t have the heart for politics anymore.

It’s not even that she wasn’t good. She was actually skilled with it but it wasn’t something she wanted to do.

What Sansa had always wanted to do was to dance.

Since she was three, her mother would bring her to her ballet lessons but always maintained that it was a hobby. It took a lot of tears, fights, and convincing, but finally she put her foot down and pursued her dream.

And now she was finally getting somewhere.

Sansa drew one of the large curtains open to let in some of the moonlight. Very faintly, she glanced over one of the mirrors and saw that she was still wearing the silver wig she had to use as Queen Naerys. Slowly she took the pins off and removed it, the hairnet came next, and the relief of her now freed hair tumbling down her back made her sigh. Next she removed the black ballet slippers she wore that matched the black and red leotards she wore.

She dressed right then and there into the simple grey velvet dress and was about to slip on her heels when she heard the music change from the other side of the room.

It was The Winter Maid, her favorite.

And feeling rather wicked, she dropped her shoes, shook her hair, and padded over to the middle of the ballroom and started dancing.

Sansa closed her eyes and let the music take her, not caring for anything but her and the song. She hummed along as she glided across the floor, her mind slowly bringing her back to that place.

Behind her lids she could see people dressed in strange thick winter garb, with flagons, skins, and cups, raised to her as she danced.

Faces familiar but not quite surrounded her and she knew she was back in her dream world. A place that would always show her what looked liked memories that seemed impossible.

A place that always showed her him.

A dark-haired man with grey eyes that looked at her like she was the world.

Yet as soon as both of them would reach out and touch, she’d be assaulted with images of death and longing.

Every night she’d see him.

And every night they’d try to be together only to be ripped apart in the morning.

Sansa was mid-twirl when the sound of something crashing on the floor startled her that she fell ungracefully.

“Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you--don’t move, I’ll come get you. Fuck! Where’s the bloody switch?” Sansa’s heart was still racing as she tried to collect herself while she heard the intruder fumble his way to her.

Sansa managed to sit up, checked her ankle at once and sighed in relief to see it wasn’t injured. Only her bum hurt where she landed but she was sure she’d just get by with a bruise in the morning. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Go back.” She tried to make out the stranger’s profile but it was too dark, especially with the moon now partially hidden by clouds and he was likely wearing a black suit and had dark hair.

She slowly stood up then and walked back to where she left her shoes and sat down on the floor while she put them on. All the while she could feel the man stand behind her before he dropped to sit on the floor too.

“I’m so sorry miss. I didn’t realize at once that I wasn’t alone and then I saw…movement..”

“It’s fine,” she felt her cheeks redden from embarrassment of being caught. “I shouldn’t have been dancing randomly.”

“No, no. You were amazing—I mean.”

Sansa suddenly chuckled but still wasn’t brave enough to turn around and face him. “That’s very kind of you to say even if I know you couldn’t really see me.”

“I could a little. Your silhouette at least, and some glimpses. But what little I was able to see was enough to make me pause,” he said softly.

Her cheeks flamed more. “Thank you, but that was just me. No fancy choreography or anything.”

“I thought you-it-was beautiful,” he rambled, making Sansa giggle before she bit her lip. “Thank you.” What else could she say?

Silence enveloped them in the dark corner they chose to stay in. “I know why I’m here…but how…how about you?” he chose to break the silence.

Sansa played with the hem of her skirt. “I just wanted some peace and quiet,” she glanced over her shoulder and saw the outline of his back facing her. “I assume you do too?”

She saw his shoulders shaking as he chuckled. “Guilty.”

“You must be a big shot then,” she teased, “to hide all this way.”

“Try pesky friends,” he grumbled.

Sansa laughed then. “We have that in common then.”

Once their laughter died both of them tried to start a conversation at the same time.

“No, you go first.”

“No, ladies first.”

“Okay. Who or what brought you to the Manderly Ball?”

“Just old friends,” he answered.

Sansa smiled. “Me too. Friends who have made it their life mission to set me up with someone.”

He laughed loudly then. “Well, we have that in common. They’ve been trying to set me up with someone all night.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I know they mean well but I’d rather it happen when it happens, you know?”

He sighed. “Exactly.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we found each other instead,” Sansa laughed but faltered when she noticed he wasn’t laughing with her. She was supposed to follow it up by joking that hiding is easier if you’re hiding with someone with the same goal but all her words died in her mouth when she turned to look and saw dark eyes looking back at her instead.

Slowly, both of them inched closer together, just to look.

Sansa could feel his fingers near hers, his warm breath tickling her skin as they leaned closer.

And as she could finally see the grey in his eyes, she was back in that place.

Only this time, it wasn’t a dark and dusty ballroom, but a warm room with fire burning by the hearth, grey eyes now belonging to the man in her dreams, his scarred hand reaching to touch her face as he leaned closer, her eyes fluttered close in wait.

But what she expected never came as both of them pulled away fast at the erupting sound of fireworks, illuminating the partially covered glass skylight they didn’t realize was there before.

Before anyone could say anything, pieces of the fireworks started falling over the roof, the room illuminating and showing that the skylight had some cracks and there were broken holes, that they had to run and take cover.

Sansa was too filled with adrenaline and confusion to see if he was following her as she made her way out of the ballroom and back to the court.

But when she looked back, there was no one following her.

Was it even real?

[aion-rsa]

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 6 Review: Podcast News

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 6

Without dipping into political waters, The Simpsons season 32, episode 6, “Podcast News,” rides the wave of fake news into a less likely swamp: True crime reporting, and the amateur sleuths who’ve gone pro broadcasting it. Not on broadcast stations, though, those are outdated, and rely on the painstaking drudgery of the finding of facts, which are terrible for ratings. The episode opens in a state of frantic paranoia, eschewing the couch gag entirely, which always bodes well.

It’s 2 a.m., time for Homer’s ham in the Springfield household, but unease is in every shadow. A wide-eyed Lisa is prowling the house looking terrified. “So many lies, so many lies,” she says, setting the tone for the entire episode. When Marge comments that Lisa looks tired, the girl adds to the suspense and confusion by revealing “Looks are deceiving. Nothing is as it seems.” These are all delicious clues, and while they seem to grow in the dire severity of Lisa’s situation, they are also like the string on a bow being drawn back on the arrow of a punchline. “Did they change climate change again,” Homer asks, but sadly, no, it’s still a horrid torrid zone of pain outside. Perfect for that 2 a.m. ham.

The Simpsons routinely open their episodes strong, but this is a particularly suspenseful one. Lisa compounds it by trying to confound her parents, which lets the show weigh in on ASMR. It works, the mere crinkle of paper sends Homer into a deep sleep. This also lets the audience know Lisa’s paranoia is coming from the internet, and not the usual suspect of social media. If that’s not enough, Marge notices the music coming out of Lisa’s buds is in a minor key. Marge’s connections of logic always come on a satisfyingly skewered path. Her conclusions may or may not be correct, but the journey through her thought process is always a worthy trek.

Lisa is exhibiting signs of true crime podcast addiction long before she confesses her need “to know who killed everybody.” The buildup is executed so well by the time she’s all murdered out, everyone watching is ready to go along for the ride-along. And with titles like “Murder Most Stabby” and “Killing Her Softly,” who could blame us? By morning, Marge is hooked. “We have much to discuss,” Lisa says, welcoming her to the genre’s dark web.

Marge and Lisa hysterically, on both senses of the word, capture the true crime obsession. Lines like “Drops of blood you can explain, but drops of brain?” and “How could a woman with four PhDs be so dumb?,” Simpsonized they may be, sound like the kinds of things people scream at their devices while watching these shows. Some people will look at a neck and wonder what ties goes on it, other people look at a neck and say I’d like to choke that.

Abe’s introduction is also a different twist on his usual character, and slightly unexpected. Homer is just finishing telling Bart about how lonely and boring grandpa is, when Abe proves him wrong.  Most of the audience knows the tie on the doorknob is a sign against intruders before Homer and Bart are averting their eyes from octogenarian canoodling behind it but it is worth the payoff.  “If the bolo is hanging, the dentures be clanging,” Abe’s explanation, is hackneyed but clever.

Morgan Fairchild is the perfect choice for Vivienne St. Charmaine, and the “Falcon Landing” title of the former superstar actress’ most famous show is a good play on Fairchild’s best-known nighttime soap. Vivienne, who is drawn to resemble Morgan, appears to really like Abe, and not just for his long and drawn out stories. She calls him her senile old sex machine, and says he’s so sweet he “should come with an insulin pump.” The episode also pokes at old people romance, suggesting a couples’ colonoscopy and a romantic dinner cruise make for a perfect evening. Lucky for the audience, it actually sets up an ideal scene for a crime which can pull the two narratives together.

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Abe becomes the subject of a slew of podcasts after Vivienne disappears with a splash. This isn’t the first time the weight of the media has settled on a member of the Simpson family. “Homer Badman,” from season 6, culminated in a mock TV-crime reenactment show called “Homer Simpsons: Portrait of an Ass Grabber,” when all he wanted was the prized Gummy de Milo candy stuck on a young woman’s jeans. We believed him then, thousands didn’t, but he is, after all, the kind of guy who falls asleep at the sound of crinkled paper. Abe doesn’t even need that. It makes sense he’s so suggestible he’d believe other people’s testimony over his own memories, just like he believes Shampoo Shuttle is the future of hair care. That and because he’s forgotten most of his memories along with his hair.

Chief Wiggum delivers a great deadpan saying how rude it is that Abe won’t confess. But the line about Springfield Police force’s Hand Push Test registering the result as “No Such Test” is the subtle winner. Also, his theory positing to “catch a murderer, you have to set them free to murder again” is both ridiculous, and frightening.

It is sad the only reason we know Grandpa didn’t do the actual murder is because he doesn’t have that kind of follow through. Homer starts off with disbelief, but only because fathom Abe ever being a person of interest, never, not once. But after he thinks about it, Homer begins to think his father is “capable of doing anything up to and including murder.” The podcasts are insidious, and their influence comes in very subliminally. Their force is almost portrayed as an unseen enemy.

It is very funny how Abe is convinced of his own guilt by episode 9 of Kent Brockman’s podcast “Guilty Grandpa,” although in episode 6, he thought it might have been a hot-headed deckhand. But it feels good to know he was actually more of a dupe than a criminal. If he was a better criminal, he would have remembered his crime at least. It is also very poignant when Abe says how he believes Vivienne is going to be the last love of his life

The reason “Podcast News” works has less to do with The Simpsons staying up to date with entertainment technology and more with what they are tackling. They have been hit and miss with some of their political humor, as the show’s been walking its own landmine between what pushes boundaries and what hits the wrong buttons, but they are always spot on with social commentary.

The kinds of paranoia which are so addictive in the true crime genre hook people from both sides of the scale. Yes, there is always good evidence ignored, and bad cops to ignore it. And, yes, hosts like Tabitha Shingle (Christine Nangle) are so dry the audience is constantly parched for any wet, bloody detail. But the episode is also a cautionary tale.

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The nightly reports from anchors like Kent Brockman are becoming yesterday’s news. We get this inadvertently from Yeardley Smith, who plays herself as the host of the podcast “Smalltown Dicks” and nowhere else. They are very self-conscious about using her, and get in some self-referential wordplay, but her concerns are valid. The podcasts can tout doubt with statements like “90-year-old people don’t just stop breathing,” or use Abe’s World War II heroics, as Johnny Flamethrower who said the fires were telling him who to burn, against him.

Of course, everyone loves DNA swabs, and spatter analysis, but every quickie podcast dramatization starring Stellan Skarsgård is at the cost of “painstakingly accumulated uncertainties.” And with that, out-of-touch news anchors like Kent Brockman can bid farewell to relevancy. The episode also gets in a dig at NPR, which they say means No Possible Revenue.

“Podcast News,” named for the comedy drama Broadcast News, is a good parody of the podcast craze. In spite of its similarity to “Bad Homer,” the episode is very current, a little tricky, and comes at us from a different kind of angle. The Simpsons have given us stories about Abe’s shady pasts. He’s been around almost longer than anyone but Monty Burns, so he has a lot more past to shade. It’s to his credit, Abe can bear the weight of the blame, especially at his age. The most frightening concept of the episode, however, is the level of personal information can be gleaned from colonoscopy technology. Filled with singularly funny one liners, “Podcast News” manages to keep a sense of tension throughout, and ends on a satisfying morally ambiguous note.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 6 Review: Podcast News appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[pywriting]

SGSW XXIV: Disagreements

24th: What disgusts your character?

Faervell hated the entire trip.

The roads were less than favorable, and far too often he found it to be raining when he’d take the far too lengthy journey to get to the church. While, perhaps, had he still lived with his sister in the house they built together, it would not have been such a trek, now it was as if his entire day would be wasted just riding out there from Embertree.

The entire reason for his visit was to see the one person worth traveling so far into a ‘holy’ ground. Ciaragan.

His sister was a constant presence there, overseeing her duties more on the side of the church than their business anyway, which would be the preferred method of it all. He hated when she tried to take the reins on meeting with their clients and associates. It always ended up losing favor in terms of their reputation than anything. She was reliable and smart and true enough incredibly skilled when it came to handling the numbers with it all, but the charms were lacking in most interactions when it came to such.

He remembered a time when it hadn’t always been like that. While she had always been more of the harsher sibling of the Bael’nar twins, she was known to have her charms. A sweet rose colored smile and soothing words that came with her berried scent. She’d seen men fall head over heels for her, and even some women. She had less favorable features, yet she dressed them in stains and paints that made her look like the best.

Ciara’s sharp, logical arguments were softened by some presence that she held in fine clothing draped across her body. A few times, people seemed only to want to work with her rather than her far more free brother, with all his charming smiles.

“It’s been wonderful getting to meet you, Mister Dawnfield. My father has had nothing but wonderful things to say about you and yours.”

She had been close, ever since the introduction. Sweet perfume that she’d bought just days before wafting from her in the nicest way. Of course, wearing one of the family friends own design, she looked a fantastic display of the Bael’nar’s silks.

“And you as well, Miss Bael’nar. It makes me quite happy to hear you’ve heard only the best of me.” The older man smiled with clear enjoyment from her company.

“Oh how could I not, with someone as kind and witty as you?”

At that time, as she smiled, Faervell knew the man was sold. The plans for further investments had been a sound idea in the first place, but considering the one to deliver the offer to the man had been his sister proved only to sweeten the deal. The entire time, Dawnfield’s eyes had been set on his sister and her dazzling smile.

In many ways, Faervell missed the woman his sister had been. He was proud of her, and together they had always been a force to be reckoned with. No matter what whispers would surround them or what difficult hurdle laid before, they were always there to tackle it together.

Now though, as Faervell dropped off of his mount, he knew it was different. He let the demonic creature he rode in on simply vanish, standing on the road that lead not but a few feet to the entrance to these ‘holy’ grounds she so dearly clung to and protected. It held a soft and alluring air to it, something that tried to give a ‘fresh’ sort of attitude of the place. Something pure.

Of course, as the man went along the path to get in full sight of the place, he knew it was anything but. Too often, he had made note of inner politics that occurred in these halls. Too often, he had been the subject of those plans. Too often, he left her to the dark shadows that lurked every turn she would take here.

There was nothing, of course, that he could do. He had tried before, and only pain and suffering had come of it.

He remembered the cup that crashed near to his head. The glass shattering, and yet not a movement made by his side. Anger filled his veins and his throat was dry from the yelling. The air around him was hot… so very hot, and yet all he could focus on was her at the time.

She looked a mess. Her tidied hair so often pulled into a braid now falling apart. She wore pale robes that clashed so terribly against her dark skin, swallowing her whole like this decision he was so desperately trying to tear her from. Her breathing was heavy and she matched his fury in a gaze that seemed like looking in a mirror at times.

Anger.

There had been so much anger back then, so many words tossed.

“I am not changing my mind, Brother! You are the one that is being the fool here! Where do you think you will get with this!?”

Her words seemed to echo constantly around him, even as they were in this enclosed room together.

“I am the fool?! -Me-?! Look at you, Ciaragan! You are setting yourself back down to nothing, for what! Redemption? What redemption will we gain for all we have sacrificed to become what we are, for all we have -done- to become who we are. You are fooling yourself with this vision of purity for us!”

“At least I see a future for us now! What are you to do now, Faer? Go on and keep trying to do this magic that will kill you? When you are scared of it yourself? What will it take to make you come to your senses? Do you need to summon something else that might kill you before you see? Make a few more problems that I have to clean up for you?”

That had stung him.

“At least I am committing to something instead of running off with some fickle idea of salvation, Ciaragan!”

Her eyes had narrowed at that, “Oh you would keep returning back to that argument, wouldn’t you. Honestly, brother, you’re just repeating yourself at this point-”

“Because I have to since you fail to even LISTEN to me!”

“I am hearing plenty, and most of it is just idiotic!”

“Idiotic?! Me?! You are asking me to give up everything! -Everything-, Ciaragan! All to just follow you into something that I do not want to do! What has the light even done for us?! The light never has watched over us nor will it ‘accept’ us. Face it!”

“You do not want to do anything but fuck other women, Faervell. That is all you do these days since we left that army.”

“I do other things!” His voice rose louder, “Unlike you, who simply sits around doing what? What do you even do for this family?! Nothing! Not any more! Now you simply wish to close off-”

“Out! Get out!” She pointed harshly at the door.

Faervell rolled his eyes, hearing plenty of this already and not wanting to back down. These arguments had been going on for the better part of the week since she brought it up to him, and each time either one of them would run away from the conversation.

Not this time.

“No. I’m not leaving until I get you to come to your senses, Ciaragan.” His tone held all his sincerity in the statement.

“I have all of my senses, Faervell, it is -you- that needs to go get fresh air to that hot head of yours and seek some of your own senses that you’ve clearly lost!”

“I am not going to just run away! You are not just going to beat me into doing what you want every time, sister!”

“I am just trying to take care of my idiotic brother!”

“I do not need to be taken care of, here, sister!”

“Get out! Go! Get out!” She shouted at him, standing from her spot now.

He held firm, glaring at her intently. “I am not leaving. I am not going to accept giving up all I have worked for, all -we- have worked for just so you can follow your daydreams of becoming a priest of the light.”

“Then leave! Just go!”

“I am not leaving without you under-”

“Then leave without me. Go! Run away! Go fuck yourself to death, brother! Go keep flittering around with the people you call friends, stuck in dens of fel. Go and do whatever you want, just leave me out of it!”

Faervell had hesitated a moment, some pang of pain in his chest at her sharp words. He knew she meant every bit of it. He always knew.

“Ciaragan, come to your-”

“I said go!”

“Ciara-”

The cup had been plucked up before he realized and thrown at his head, missing on purpose, but clear in it’s threat. It had shattered, and in some reflection, perhaps he’d find it a poetic moment of what it meant between them.

Words would not mend this.

Several silent moments passed before finally, in a far more even and dangerous tone, he said. “Is that really what you want then?”

“Yes! Yes it is! Clearly, all you wish to do is kill yourself doing who knows what else you plan next. I would rather save myself the pain of being held down by you anyway!”

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, then said, “Then if there is one thing I can do for you, it will be this.” There was so much bitterness in his words, like venom dripping from a dagger aimed right for her.

Even as he had tossed it to her, as he turned his back and marched away from that room, he felt something stab through his chest, carving away at his soul.

So often, there had only been words between them. It was not as if they had never fought. Yet this time, as Faervell walked farther and farther away, fueled by that anger that still burned hot as the fel flames that licked his fingers, he only felt more weight of it. His feet would not turn him back around to her. His tongue would not utter an apology.

He left, just as she had wished.

Slowly, he had made his way down polished halls that glistened from the work of apprentices. Even as he moved through the empty halls, he felt like there were eyes upon him everywhere. Judgemental in every step he took.

Eventually, he came to where her rooms stood. Two guards laid outside, and with one quick nod to them both, he spoke up, “I’m expected by my sister.”

They didn’t care to question any more, merely allowing him to pass through until he came into the main rooms. As he passed by, he felt more of that judgement press upon his shoulders, making him scowl just a bit. Of all the people here, they were one of the few that knew quite a bit. His practices and his enjoyments. Of course it was less favorable to be someone of -that- craft here, and yet here he was.

The rooms themselves were simple, in an odd sort of way. Decorated with books and some sparse art associated to some nature that displayed a pleasing scene. It was tidy, well kept, and clearly a place that was often occupied based upon the desk and the paperwork piled upon it. It was a stark difference to his own workplaces, where his mind spilled out over the entire space and was rarely ‘clean’ to the standards his sister would expect.

In a way, it just made him all the more uncomfortable.

He hadn’t immediately seen her, and based upon his senses, he knew she wasn’t actually in the rooms. She would come soon, he knew, but until then he allowed himself the time to poke about with mild curiosities.

His fingers traced along the wood of her desk, eyes briefly glancing over the paperwork littered across the table. Orders and some correspondences between her new ‘friends’ and associates. Very little had to do with their mutual business itself, most of it being a Bishop’s work. He shook his head a bit, settling himself down into her own chair, as if it was his.

As he started to flip through the papers and such, he was interrupted by the sounds of someone closing the door and abruptly he heard her.

“Faervell?”

He’d been so very worried. Nervous, even. The correspondences they’d sent back and forth seemed to have made so much sense. Old wounds left from a night from what seemed like an eternity ago had started to been thought over, and slowly, mended in these small letters.

There had been so much time he’d spent running away from it that he’d failed to think about the time that he’d have to turn back to see her again. No, at that time, all he’d set his mind to was getting away. Far away from the problems that had happened. Far away from the immovable problem that frustrated him so much.

Far away from the only person he’d truly promised to never leave.

When he heard his name, turning to see her there, it was as if those nights an eternity ago meant nothing. The feeling of his loss tumbled out, and all of a sudden it struck hard how much he had truly missed his sister.

As they embraced, he held her tight, told himself silently to never let her go again. Even if it would be difficult, he’d cling onto her. Even if she had to be…

“Faervell.”

Her tone had snapped him back to reality, focusing more intently upon the woman that stood there before him. Already she was sweeping away her documents, tapping them into piles and making a face at him.

“You’re late, you know.”

“Yet you were not here in your quarters.”

“Because, in case you did not know, I do have other duties to tend to rather than wait forever for you, brother.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing far too well just how busy she was as well. It seemed that’s all that occurred to those around him any more, and in some way, he hated it. In others, in his mind, it seemed only the better opportunity to focus on his own goals.

“Apologies, Bishop.” He said with such sarcasm dripping from his tone.

He hated saying that.

He hated what she was.

She had turned in her bright, clean robes, looking back around the room and starting to prattle on about some business. He had started to tune it out, his thoughts running off as he watched his sister wander out across the room and go on.

He hated that there was nothing there could be done for it.

He hated it all so very much, yet every time, he knew it was useless.

Slowly, he leaned his head against his hand, covering his mouth with his hands as he frowned deeply. Too distracted by his thoughts, and feeling that well of frustration starting to bubble once more. His brows came together, and all at once he started to regret coming out all this way. Perhaps today was not the best for this.

He hated that there was no argument he could make now.

He hated that he was scared to even mention the subject any more.

He hated this.

But most of all, he hated the fact that he would never be able to make himself change anything. The situation was frustrating, and his lack of ability to find any solution to the tension only served to do one thing.

Everything about this situation; every little detail.

All of it.

Faervell Bael’nar was disgusted.

@thesunguardmg @sparklepriest @postmoderndaughter (sorry not sorry i wanted to write this) and @jessipalooza for vague mentions.

[aion-rsa]

Stateless Review (Spoiler Free): Classy Australian Immigration Drama With a Stellar Cast

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“The title of the series refers to statelessness in a more poetic sense,” explains Cate Blanchett, creator of six part Australian drama Stateless, the latest acquisition for Netflix, which originally aired on ABC, Australia’s national broadcaster.  It also, of course, refers to some of the inhabitants of the immigrant detainee center at the heart of the show – many of whom are refugees who can’t be returned to country where they held citizenship (not necessarily stateless then, but as Blanchett also points out, the title is metaphoric rather than strictly legal).

It’s a weighty but accessible drama that would have felt at home on Channel 4 in the UK – HBO in the States – with a distinct Aussie flavor, elevated by excellent performances from the high quality and high profile cast.

The show focuses on four main characters. Sofie Werner (The Hand Maid’s Tale star Yvonne Strahovski) is an Australian citizen suffering severe mental health issues triggered by trauma experienced while she was part of a cult. Ameer (Fayssal Bazzi) is an Afghan refugee hoping for a protection visa for him and his family. Cameron (Jai Courtney) is a soft hearted blue collar worker who takes a job at the detention center to earn a bit of money. While Clare (Asher Keddie) is the new director of the center promoted out of her comfort zone and faced with politics and media every way she turns. Additional supporting characters in and outside the centre paint a picture of a flawed system that imprisons people who have committed no crimes often for excessively long periods of time while policy, publicity and red tape prevent asylum seekers from being given the support they need.

Not a bundle of laughs then, Stateless isn’t a didactic diatribe either. A non-linear narrative weaving flashbacks together to tell the backstories of the main characters adds colour and context while the linear elements follow the decline of the prisoners and staff stuck at the detention centre.

Strahovski is terrific as Sofie, a young flight attendant who becomes embroiled in a self-actualisation group run by charismatic leaders played by Blanchett and Dominic West. There she is encouraged to explore her difficult relationship with her family and becomes increasingly dependent on the group until a traumatic incident sees her expelled, rejected and losing her grip on reality. Strahovski’s performance is fearless and Sofie’s mental health issues are handled with sensitivity. Her journey is our introduction to the detainment camp and her story is compelling and unusual – she’s based on a real person, Cornelia Rau, who was detained for ten months in 2004 and 2005. It’s Ameer’s case that is the more tragic and the more typical, though, with political loopholes hampering his request for the protection visa that has personally cost him and his family so much. 

Jai Courtney’s Cameron is highly sympathetic here too – and Courtney is fantastic. A gentle family man who takes a role as an officer to make a bit of cash, he’s a good bloke who tries to do the right thing but struggles to maintain his sense of self within a deeply flawed system. 

As the title suggests, these characters are displaced, untethered in the never-ending no man’s land of the detainment center. The Australian setting and the heat and monotony of the yard the detainees traipse around even brings to mind Ted Kotcheff’s nightmarish outback horror Wake In Fright. Stateless is nowhere near as traumatic as that masterpiece but the sense of these people – detainees and staff alike – being drawn into a shared madness in a dusty liminal space is haunting enough. Stateless is a grown up and highly cinematic drama, innovatively told, with a great script, and powerhouse performances all round. Running at just under six hours in total, with (we hope) no plans for further series it’s an important, but never preachy, look at some of the problems with immigration law as well as a strange self-contained tale inspired by the truth, which may resonant even harder at a time where we’re all confined to small spaces in a world we hardly recognise.

Stateless is streaming on Netflix now.

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